It's On Again
by pieandsouffle
Summary: Fury wants to bring in Spider-Man, Peter has no intention of cooperating, Stark and Rogers dislike Fury's choices, and things are made more complicated when a menace named 'The Goblin', guilty of the death of one 'Kamala Khan', begins searching for a certain masked vigilante. Avengers, TASM, Ms Marvel.
1. 1

**This is a beautiful AU in which my favourite character (Gwen) is not dead, Harry does not become evil, and Peter in the Avengers is a thing that might actually happen.**

It wasn't the first time he'd encountered Iron Man.

And all Peter Parker could think was thank God for that, he knew exactly what to expect.

Although it didn't help him all that much. Especially since Stark was trying knock him out of the air and drag him back to some horrible top-secret military base to be interrogated by some menacing, overly-aggressive secret agent. And then his identity to be presumably discovered, typed into a computer, and somehow hacked and released to the world, considering how incapable S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed to be at keeping secret identities- y'know, _secret_. And then, of course, after huge embarrassment and a lot of yelling from Aunt May, criminals would try and take him out. Or his family. He had lost Uncle Ben already, and he didn't think he would be emotionally capable of attending Aunt May's funeral, standing in the same, cold graveyard, listening to a priest drone meaningless, emotionless 'we are here to celebrate the life of-". And if they came after Gwen…

Peter broke away from his reverie, and dodged a small heat-seeking-something, webbed it, and threw it back at its source: in this case, a pissed-off billionaire in a billion-dollar gold-titanium suit of armor. He felt the collision shake its way back to his web shooters, before the webbing disintegrated as a fizz of electricity ran up it, and into Peter.

"Agh!" he yelled as he flew backwards from the shock. He was falling diagonally towards a skyscraper, which would probably have ended like a bug hitting a car windscreen, but just before Peter hit the side of a building, he spun, like a cat, and landed on his hands and feet. _Oh, I love you spider-powers._

Tony Stark fell a few dozen metres, obviously feeling his end of the electricity explosion, before activating the repulsors in his hands and feet, and then turning his suit's steely glare towards Peter, dark stains of charcoal and debris streaking the mask.

"I swear to god, bug, I'm literally trying to help you!" He outstretched his arm in a pacifying gesture, but Peter webbed it as quickly as possible, and the blaster began to glow and whine dangerously. Yeah. Like _that's _'literally trying to help'.

Peter felt a tingle as his spider-sense activated (really? He had had _no_ idea he was in a perpetually fatal situation) and moved only just in time to dodge a blast of heat from Iron Man's blasters, aimed at the webbing between them. He could feel the suit begin to burn where the blast just caught the spandex. A window shattered as the blast hit it straight on, and shards of glass exploded from the frame and dug into the nearest possible living thing: Peter.

He let out a gasp of shock, which he hastily turned into a shout. "I could tell!" he yelled back, refraining from letting out a squeak of pain. "The way you're hurling highly expensive, specialized weaponry at me? I can tell you're just _bleeding _helpfulness!" Ow. Ow ow ow. Peter felt his shoulder-blades blister. He was going to have to repair the suit. _Again. _"Trying to blow me up? Ugh, I can't believe I didn't see the benefits before!"

Peter slipped down the side of the building a few metres. Dammit. Whenever he was distracted or injured, he had a harder time concentrating on his ability to stick to everything. It didn't help that his hands were getting bloody. A man inside the building stared out the window at Peter, spilling his coffee all over the floor, but he didn't seem to notice. Peter saluted him quickly, aware that he was getting a lot weaker and he probably shouldn't waste time being an idiot, but refusing to give up the opportunity to surprise some poor working dude whose most exciting day was probably starting elementary school. The man backed away, and Peter frowned indignantly behind the mask, but then he spotted Iron Man's reflection in the glass. The metal form dropped a few metres and Peter tensed, but Stark wasn't showing any signs of attack.

Yet, anyway.

Peter's bloody hands slipped down the window.

"I don't have anything against you personally, kid," Stark shouted at him, easily lowering his altitude to match Peter's. Despite Peter's powers as Spider-Man, he was getting tired, and Stark could easily go a few more rounds until he knocked Peter into next week. He probably wouldn't win. "Although I probably will if we keep fighting." Stark's mask lifted from his face, revealing a very clean face, with absolutely no signs of stress or sweat. Obviously this fight wasn't draining him in the slightest. Strike that, Peter didn't have a _chance_ at winning. "I mean kid, you're pretty cool. When we took out those über-Nazis near my tower? That was amazing. I seriously don't want to get you injured too badly. Look, the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. just wants a word. Can't you just talk to him? Sure, he's an asshole, but you can probably take him." Tony Stark paused. "It's just if I don't get you to come, he's gonna send out some agents to-" he stopped and thought. "Abduct you. And they won't be so uneasy hurting you."

Peter briefly remembered the Nazis. It was like a secret gang of them that were planning to bomb a Jewish community hall. It had been a pretty elaborate act of terrorism for a group of bigots, but thankfully a lone police officer picked up hints about what was going to happen, radioed in to the station which came up on Peter's radio, so he went there, started taking out Nazis left right and centre. Then Stark turned up (well, it was pretty close to the tower) and helped, along with the cop, and the job was done pretty quickly.

And the cop, Awinita Nakos, got a promotion, and radioed Peter occasionally, giving him heads-ups about crime. She was pretty cool. Her kids were nice too.

Despite working with Stark before, Peter had absolutely no intention of coming quietly. "I'm not interested!" Peter bellowed. "I want to keep my secret identity _secret. _There isn't much of a chance of that if I get anywhere near your boss. He'll probably interrogate me anyway, and I will not let that happen." Couldn't win? No problem. There was always escape. Ugh, it was embarrassing though. He shot up the side of a building, watching the glass carefully in case another attack came. When he just saw Stark sigh heavily and put the mask back on, flight stabilizers powering up again, he tripled his speed. He was leaving bloody handprints up the side of the building, but he didn't particularly care. He knew J. J. Jameson sure would, but since when did anyone ever pay attention to the news presenter? All Jameson cared about was his precious photos Peter provided, and-

"Agh!"

The spidey-sense went into overdrive (way too late, thanks a bunch) when a very large, shield-like object that happened to look exactly like Captain America's barreled into his side. Even his superhuman healing and flexibility didn't save a rib or two from cracking.

_Shit._

He was in trouble.

Captain America had joined in the fight. Yep, he definitely was, how about that? Peter could see him on the ground as he dangled from the building. Cap was on the ground in his full-on freedom outfit, including the helmet.

At least he wasn't wearing that awful turtle-neck sweater Peter had seen him wearing in history class. Man, even for the forties, that was the most awful fashion disaster Peter had ever seen. The Captain seemed to know what Peter was thinking about. OK, probably not, but even from the distance, he could swear he somehow saw Cap's eyes narrow.

It really wasn't fair. Two of Peter's idols were both trying to knock him into oblivion and pull him away to God-knows where. Steve Rogers, America's first super-hero (maybe not the world's though, Peter quite admired Schindler), thought he was some common criminal/vigilante that had to be _taken down and brought to S.H.I.E.L.D. _Tony Stark, complete _genius _(though admittedly insane)_, _thought he was being stupid to avoid going to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Peter just wanted to help people. And he had a duty to do it, as well. _With great power comes great responsibility, _Uncle Ben chanted in Peter's head.

"Please shut up Uncle Ben, no time right now." He'd apologize to his mental version of his uncle later.

Hey, maybe he should apologize for getting him _killed _too. Peter felt the claws of guilt slap him over the head with that bottle of dumb milk that screwed up his life.

His self-pity couldn't last long however, especially as the shield returned for another attack, and Peter's ribs stabbed into him with horrible throbs of pain that made him drop several metres down the side of the building.

It took him a few seconds to realize he was falling (come _on, _spidey-sense, do your job!), and another second to actually _do _something about it.

In this case, catch himself with one hand, lunge through a broken window, avoid screaming employees, and run.

Ugh, escape. What a _masterful _plan.

**Hey, thanks for reading this far. I'm aware I'm not the best writer and this hasn't been beta-ed, so if you could please write ways to improve my writing in reviews and such! And your opinion on the story so far! Thanks for reading so far.**


	2. 2

**Okay, thank you to the 26 or so people who followed this fic. I was quite surprised to have that many follow overnight, so thank you. Apologies if Tony or Steve are OOC, I'm not great at writing different characters yet.**

Iron Man smashed into the ground beside Captain America, watching Spider-Man disappear into a building mid-fall. "Did you just boomerang your shield at that kid?!"

"_Kid?" _Steve Rogers asked in amazement. "Fury told me he was an assassin and had to be taken out and handed over to S.H.I.E.L.D.!" He never would have thrown his shield if he'd known there was a kid in that spider costume. "How do you know?"

Stark grunted. "Fury wanted me to bring him in for questioning. The kid's helped me before and I guess he knows me better than the others, and since the director apparently knows Spider-kid won't be coming in by his own terms, he lied to you to get Spider-Man taken in."

"What a-" Steve stopped himself from vocalizing the director's name amidst several expletives (_probably 'damn', 'bloody' and 'fondue'_, Tony thought. Of course his father had told him that story). "How can we bring in the kid without hurting him more?"

"I don't know! Tell me you have an idea, Rogers!" He hadn't been sure whether Spider-Man was actually bleeding, but J.A.R.V.I.S. zoomed in on the side of the building, which had bloody handprints all over it. "I'm all out!" That wasn't actually true, he had only tried talking (which hadn't worked), and attacking without strategy, but hopefully Steve wouldn't realize that. "I don't want to hurt the kid anymore."

_That's not actually true, sir, _J.A.R.V.I.S. said, correcting a previous statement. _You have not suggested a single thing to stop Spider-Man, excepting highly aggressive plans. I however, do have some ideas that might better suit the situation, minimizing injuries to Spider-Man, yourself, and damage to surrounding structures-_

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S. Tell me while I'm in the air." Stark said curtly, and took off after Spider-Man again. A brief thought nearly stopped him midair.

"Rogers, this kid has been around for _ages. _He's on TV _all the time. _How do you _not _know about him?"

_"__Well, I-" _There was a shifty silence, which only confirmed what Tony had already suspected.

"You can't operate the _TV!?_" he crowed.

"_I can operate specialized HYDRA weaponry," _Rogers hissed. "_Your unnecessarily complicated televisions are the least of my worries right now. Try bring the kid in without murdering him."_

"Well, we've got you to do that," Stark mumbled.

Peter burst from the other side of the building, after a long detour avoiding workers (including coffee-man, who seemed to have moved floor to regale other employees with the story of Spider-Man and the window) in the building, standing right in the way in states of a kind of petrified amazement. He allowed himself to fall for several seconds, enjoying the feeling of cool air whooshing past him, on his aching ribs, before webbing himself a line to a bridge and swinging over the heads and cars of gaping and openmouthed commuters standing dumbly, mouths opening and closing like fish.

"Watch ooooouuuuuut!" Peter screamed uselessly as his lifeline slipped and he nearly crashed into a bus full of tourists. Fortunately he dodged the vehicle with a somersault (ow ribs ow ow he was gonna regret this), and saw flashes of light as the tourists immediately raised their cameras in a uniform onslaught of holiday memories.

Sure, his spider-powers were helping him so far, but Peter was tired. Really tired, and sore, and in quite a lot of pain, and the only thing he wanted to do was find Gwen and fall asleep in her lap. Of course, after chastisement and amateur surgery. Although if Stark kept up the pursuit, that might not ever happen. Well the chastisement would; even if she was standing in front of his grave, Gwen would tell him off for being an idiot.

Peter was struck by the sudden realization that his aunt might not ever find out what happened to him if he died as Spider-Man. Gwen would realize, of course, and if Aunt May did, who knows how she would react? And what if she found _out?_

He didn't want to go, not yet. Not for a long time.

"And that's _not _happening," he said to himself with gritted teeth.

_You have to somehow daze him, sir, _J.A.R.V.I.S. stated. _I suggest you use your flares, and then use an electrical shock to render him unconscious. I examined footage of a previous capture of Spider-Man when Doctor Connors was attempting to genetically alter the DNA of every living thing in New York. That was how the police managed to arrest him, before Captain Stacy released him._

Tony altered his flight path to dodge a gaggle of tourists that were piling out of a bus, squealing and armed with cameras. "Okay, we've just got to get in front of him first. I tried using the electrical missiles before, but he kept dodging them."

_Not a problem, sir._ Tony felt the flight stabilizers kick it up a few notches, and he rocketed forward even faster than before. _He was expecting them, then. _Spider-Man's slowing form was getting closer every second. Now that Tony was flying closer, he could really see the extent of damage done to the man in the suit, and felt a few pangs of guilt. He hadn't intended it to get this bloody. In fact, he'd hoped that Spider-Man would immediately agree to see Fury. If it hadn't been Tony trying to collect him, Spider-Man, or someone else, would most likely already be dead. If the kid had just agreed… Stubborn dick.

Apparently Spider-Man bore more similarities with Tony than he'd thought.

The Iron Man suit overtook Spider-Man, who tried to shoot off in a different direction, but Tony raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay! I understand you don't want to see the director. I don't blame you. He's a dickhead." Spider-Man stuck to the side of the bridge and pointed his hands at Tony, holding himself on the bridge with only his feet. "We'll stop bothering you."

The last part was a blatant lie, but Spider-Man slowly lowered his hands that were directed straight at Tony, apparently ready to web him up with that sticky mixture that kept shooting out of his wrists. When Spider-Man's hands were planted on the bridge, J.A.R.V.I.S. deployed flares.

"We'll stop bothering you."

Peter could hardly believe his ears. He didn't want to trust Stark (well, actually he did, Tony Stark was so cool), but his spider-sense remained quiet.

His human sense, on the other hand, was screaming _nope nope nope are you fucking insane Peter oh just trust the guy with the missiles that was just __**attacking **__you by all means you absolute __**twat.**_

Despite his human sense's colourful attempts to dissuade him from trusting Stark, almost two seconds passed without disaster striking.

So he lowered his hands.

**_OOOOH I TOLD YOU YOU PIECE OF-_**

Peter saw the mini-missiles leave the Iron Man suit, and it took a millisecond (too long) to realize what they were. His spider-sense wasn't going off, so they obviously weren't going to hurt him… too much.

Flares. Stark released flares.

And then everything went white. It was like a needle had been jabbed into both eyes. He pulled one of his hands off the bridge to shield his eyes (reminder: tint and polarize the lenses on his mask).

It reminded Peter all too much of when he was swinging his way to Oscorp to stop Doctor Connors. Flash of light, blinded and then taser. He particularly disliked the taser part, which thankfully hadn't happened yet.

Of course the spider-sense hadn't gone off. Flares technically weren't an attack, at least according to the bullshit sense.

**_HUMAN SENSE WINS THIS ROUND YOU LOSER_**

A steely hand gripped Peter's shoulder, and he blindly tried to shake it off. He lobbed a web in a random direction.

His human sense shook its metaphorical head sadly and flipped him off.

"Sorry, kid! Hopefully this won't hurt." Tony Stark's mechanized voice boomed next to his head, and then that useless spider-sense went off again (approximately 47.7 times stronger than before) as volts of electricity coursed through his body. It must have taken barely a second, but in that time Peter experienced an unpleasant feeling not unlike being dunked into boiling water, managed to swear extravagantly, and only after that, did everything disappear.

"Well, thank God that's over," Tony said, the mask lifting up from his face. He was holding Spider-Man, who had begun falling as soon as he had been tasered, out completely cold, bloody, and breathing far too shallowly to be healthy. (A sort of reflex had made him drop Spider-Man when the first volts coursed through him).

"You lied to him," Steve said disapprovingly. "You said you were going to stop."

"Well, I wasn't about to tell him I was going to electrocute him." Tony looked down at the boy. "Fury lied to you, again, and you don't seem to be that upset. At least this kid's in better condition than if Romanoff had come after."

"Actually, if Natasha was on the case, he'd already be leaving from the S.H.I.E.L.D. base in perfect condition."

"Shut up, Rogers."

"And he'd be pleasantly surprised as to how polite S.H.I.E.L.D. was."

"I swear to God, Rogers."

Director Fury surveyed the clouds on the helicarrier as numerous agents spoke into headsets, tapped on keyboards, and glared at the screens of their computers. To a stranger, it appeared he was admiring the view. To anyone who had known him for longer the 14 seconds, it was clear he was waiting. In this case, waiting for an arrogant billionaire to blast past, come aboard, and cockily strut into the room.

He was not disappointed.

"Stark's aboard, Director," Agent Hill stated, taking her hand away from her earpiece. "Rogers is being collected from the ground by Romanoff and Barton."

So Stark had separated from the others. Fury recognized this behaviour.

Tony Stark wanted to gloat. Fury cracked a knuckle. _This is expected._

No sooner had he thought that, Tony Stark entered. He wasn't wearing his armour, which was normal, but he wasn't strutting, which was not normal.

Fury turned his single eye onto Tony Stark in the most horrifying glare as soon as he entered the room.

"I'm hoping for your own sake that your only purpose for being here is to tell me you brought Spider-Man in."

Tony Stark does not smile, and Fury was briefly reminded of when Stark hacked S.H.I.E.L.D. classified files to reveal that weapons were being developed from the tesseract. Tony had still busted out with the sarcasm ("I'm sorry Nick, what were you lying?"), but he hadn't been smiling. He had been deadly serious. For Stark, anyway. He sat down heavily at the conference table.

"You lied to Cap to bring in Spider-Man."

Oh. So Stark was pissed off about Spider-Man. Which was unsurprising, now that Fury thought about it.

"Spider-Man had to be brought in, he's a danger to society."

"Criminal society. And y'know, I think I'm slightly more qualified to decide that. I've worked with him, not you. You just get pissed when you aren't the reason for something going well."

"What are you talking about, Stark?"

Stark slammed his hands into the table. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Spider-Man is doing the _right _thing, and you manipulate Rogers into practically _killing _him so that your precious Shitty Homeland etc. etc. division gets a) the credit for Spider-Man doing his job," Stark listed the reasons off his fingers, "or b) the excuse that you arrested him if his little exploits are badly received!" He paused, and then tapped a third finger. "And so that you can know every stupid thing about this kid because you seem to have a serious problem with not knowing absolutely everything."

Fury gave Tony an unimpressed glare. "I understand that you're feeling overprotective of the insect-"

"Spiders are actually classified as arachnids. Elementary school."

Oh great, the annoying dick version of Tony had turned. As if he'd never left. Agent Hill's face was stiff, but Fury had definitely caught her mouth begin to quirk up before she took control of her emotions again.

"Overprotective of the _arachnid, _but I have a world to keep safe, and this bug-" Fury gave a brutal look at Stark, who had opened his mouth, presumably to correct him with the actual definition of a bug, "-threatens it."

"Only by doing _our_ job pretty damn well."

"Stark, I seem to remember you giving up your 'job' for an uncertain period of time." Fury gave a pointed glare to Tony's chest where the miniaturised arc reactor had once glowed.

"That's not the point!" Tony insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Spider-Man is doing exactly what we're supposed to do and you had us bring him in for it!"

"We have a duty to protect the world. Spider-Man deals with petty crime. Regardless," Fury spat, "his abilities classify him as a _potential threat. _When, or if, he agrees to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., we can remove him from that list."

"Rogers, Romanoff and Barton are on board with Spider-Man," Agent Hill interrupted. "Captain America is heading here right now."

"I can't wait to see the shit Rogers puts you through," Stark remarked gleefully.

Steve could barely accept that Fury lied to him. Sure, he really should have expected it, considering who the Director was (Tony's words floated through his head: _"Captain, he's _the _spy. His secrets have secrets." _He waved them away, and when they wouldn't leave, threw his shield at them).

After a cold argument with Nick Fury that he wasn't sure either of them won, he and Stark went to Spider-Man's holding cell. The vigilante was still out completely cold, belted to the bed in there like Barton had been when trying to release him from the effects of Loki's hypnotism.

There was still a considerable amount of blood on him, and his chest was rising and falling in a fluttering, weak way that Steve was sure he was entirely responsible for.

Stark seemed to know that. "Did your job a bit well for your liking?"

Steve didn't reply for a second. "I genuinely believed it when Fury said he was attacking civilians. I wouldn't have ever tried to bring him in if I had known he was helping people."

"Well, Fury is an asshole, so I just wouldn't trust him in future," Stark said casually.

Steve stared at the person behind the glass. Now that he was up close and not in action, he could really see Spider-Man. He didn't look all that heroic at the moment, a skinny man in a bloody costume, clearly in a very bad way. He could see a slash across Spider-Man's forehead, bloodied skin showing slightly through the gap.

"I think I did that one," Stark said, pointing out the gash on the vigilante's head.

Steve didn't answer. He recalled throwing his shield at the masked man, watching him clutch his chest after it connected with him. Broken ribs, surely.

"You _really _tore Fury a new one in there," Stark chuckled.

Steve quirked up the corner of his mouth, before lowering it to resume a solemn expression. "He had it coming. Manipulating me into just about _murdering _that kid," he said, nodding his head to Spider-Man.

"He likes getting us to do the dirty work."

"I'm not doing his dirty work again."

"Yeah, just punch him next time," Tony suggested.

"You're not helping."

**A****nd thanks once again for reading this far.**

**Updates may be a little slower to come, but rest assured that more will be coming. I've planned out most of this story and written a huge amount, so it'll be coming soon.**


	3. 3

**Apologies about this chapter. I was just really unenthusiastic about this one for some reason, so it's a helluva lot shorter and more badly written than it should be. Next one will be better, I just had to get this one out of the way.**

* * *

Of course, he had been completely and hopelessly passed out until he had been left in the room, where he had woken up and decided to stay 'unconscious' for the larger part of seven hours.

The smaller part had been spent actually sleeping. He hadn't bothered staying awake after that, just committing it to memory before 'hey, I think I deserve a nap'.

He mulled over the conversation. It was nice to think that Tony Stark and Captain America hadn't _wanted _to beat the shit out of him, but it didn't exactly detract from the fact that they_ had_.

Of course, it was still hugely satisfying that Captain America thought he was doing the right thing.

That was pretty cool.

Yeah.

He narrowed his eyes at the ceiling.

A few _hours _must have passed since that conversation. The lights had dimmed slightly in the room, making him sure that it had morphed into night outside while he drooled into his mask.

Peter slowly turned his head to the side, trying to look out the window to the room without any cameras picking up the movement. He assumed he got away with it, because the lights didn't flicker on and no burly agents came to stand menacingly at the door.

Peter decided to risk another movement. This time, a much larger movement.

He yanked at the strap tying his arm to the bed.

Well, he hadn't _intended _for it break so easily, but it was hardly his fault that they _seemed _to have placed him in a cell for regular humans.

That thought forced him to hold back a bark of laughter. Hah. So much for S.H.I.E.L.D. Fucking idiots.

He pulled his wrist up to his face and to his utmost delight, found that they had not removed his web shooters.

S.H.I.E.L.D. truly was incompetent.

* * *

At around 4am, long after Steve Rogers and Stark had returned to the city, Fury found himself grinding his teeth at a screen in the control room. Maria Hill stood firmly next to him, surveying the footage displayed seriously.

The footage in question showed Spider-Man breaking free of his bonds, somehow breaking through a _wall _(Fury had to give it to the bug, he was a lot stronger than he looked), and disappearing into the night: also called free-falling from the helicarrier which was currently directly above New York City.

A few agents filtered through the doors to the control room nervously. One or two coughed, and another pulled out a phone and began playing a game, his eyes flicking from the small screen to Fury anxiously. It was completely silent.

"Who was the fucking _idiot,_" Fury said, "who put Spider-Man in a cell designed for normal humans?"

The silence was completer (if possible), until the agent with the phone _meeped._

* * *

Peter lay on the ground, his face in a puddle, and moaned.

What… a fucking… _disaster._

Yeah yeah, heroic escape, it would have been very nice and everything if he hadn't broken his _goddamn ankle in the fall._

S.H.I.E.L.D. was probably laughing right now at any security footage of him falling.

Peter pulled his face up off the ground and irritably surveyed his location. He didn't get much from it, except that it was a dark, gross-smelling alley with something weird against the wall that didn't seem to be human, animal, plant or anything except for sludge.

He let his face fall back in the puddle.

It was probably time to head over to Gwen's.

* * *

It took a very long way to limp his way to Gwen's apartment, but when he finally arrived there (it was thankfully not occupied by her brothers of mother at the moment), he climbed through the window and collapsed on the nearest flat surface available, which happened to be the floor.

Gwen spilled tea _everywhere. _"Peter! I've been so worried! What- holy _shit_, what did they _do _to you?!"

"How come your people aren't here?" he mumbled into the carpet evading the question. He hurt so much, and he was just _so _tired...

Gwen gently rolled him over until he was facing the ceiling. She kneeled over him, a silhouette against the overhead lights. He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine what her expression was.

"They're interstate, visiting grandparents," she replied, pulling off Peter's mask. She gazed down at his face, concerned. "They won't be back for another few days. You look terrible, if it helps to know." She wiped her tea/blood stained hand on her thigh, and then kissed him. "Let's get you fixed up, bug-boy." It sounded like she said it with a smile, but a worried one at that. "You can stay the night here, and then I'll take you back to your aunt. She's worried sick, but I don't think she should see you when you're so beaten up."

* * *

After a miniature surgery that Peter never wanted to repeat again (except Gwen's hands were nice and cool on his bruised chest, but his ankle and shoulder didn't take well to being reset), he seriously needed to sleep.

Gwen refused to let him sleep on the floor, and Peter refused to let _her _sleep on the floor, or her to let him sleep in her family's beds (who wanted to come home and sleep in a bed that had occupied a disgustingly dirty teenage boy? He could manage on the floor), so after a brief argument, one which Gwen won, Peter sulkily climbed into her bed.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Literally. Gwen had to stifle her sniggers at how silly he looked as he just completely collapsed. She turned the light off and left the room, leaving her ridiculous boyfriend to sleep in peace.

* * *

**Sorry about this chapter guys. For some reason I really didn't have my heart in it. Next one will be longer and better, promise. **


	4. 4

**So to make up for the last dismal chapter, here is a longer one. It doesn't have any action, but whatever. Enjoy.**

* * *

**_Two days later_**

"-no one was injured in the incident, and we plan to keep it that way in future incidents. Stark out," Tony finished.

To say the press conference was going poorly was an understatement. After having numerous reporters stand up and attempt to question him halfway through his speech, he was in a slightly bad mood. Attention was great and all, but some of the reporters had been loudly talking about his uncalled for attack on Spider-Man. He really just didn't want to talk about, especially with how guilty he was feeling over the whole 'abduct-Spider-Man-and-bring-him-to-Fury' incident.

Reporters muttered and a few hopefuls tilted their microphones towards him. A familiar-looking woman stood up.

"Christine-"

"No."

Rhodey put his hand on Tony's shoulder and steered him away, intent on having him removed from the conference before he fucked something up, but before he managed to leave the podium, a moustached man stood up angrily as Christine someone-or-other sat down.

"J. Jonah. Jameson, Daily Bugle," he barked, spit flying. "As much as I approve of you taking out that wall-crawling menace, Spider-Man, that was crap, what you said about no injuries."

He wasn't exactly yelling, at least not as if he meant to. It was more like he didn't know how to talk any quieter.

The guy would have made a great PE teacher.

Tony made a run for the microphone, but Rhodey ducked in front of him and raced back in front in the hopes of stopping Tony from saying something seriously stupid. "Mr. Jameson, no pedestrians, people in vehicles, or any others were reported injured in the events that occurred. Mr. Stark is not answering any more questions or comments."

"Bull crap!" Jameson bellowed. "Doesn't mean it didn't happen! Look at my photographer!" He reached down to the person sitting down next to him.

"No, Mr. Jameson, please…"

"Mr. Jameson, Peter has made it clear-"

"I'm not listening, Miss Brant! Up, Parker!"

"No, I'm totally fine. I still have feeling in my legs, I don't count as injured."

The photographer's futile attempts to stay hidden were unsuccessful as the older man managed to drag up a teenage boy, whose appearance was met with gasps. A slightly older woman attempted to drag the boy back down out of eyesight.

Tony didn't make a sound, but the pit of his stomach dropped a few inches with guilt. The boy was wearing square black glasses, which wasn't all that unusual, but the glasses were doing absolutely nothing to hide his black eyes, a cut across his forehead, and bruising all over his face. On top of that, the boy's arm was in a sling, he was delicately holding a crutch in the other hand, and his only visible hand had plasters- well, plastered over it.

"This boy was at the scene attempting to take photographs for _The Daily Bugle, _and he was hit by falling debris from your escapades!" J. J. J. barked.

A few flashes of cameras went off, and the boy (was it Parker?) wrenched his arm from Jameson's grip with a wince and sat down hastily. Well, as hastily as he could manage in his condition. A different reporter raised his hand meekly to say something, but a ferocious glare from Colonel Rhodes made him bring his hand down to pretend he was scratching his head.

"Do you have anything to say about the injuries caused to my photographer?" Jameson yelled.

"Why the _fuck _are you making him work?" Tony asked. It was the only thing he could say in his disbelief.

* * *

The next half hour wasn't pretty. That was all that could be said; that and that several of the security guards employed by Stark Industries had resigned after a few very determined reporters had done things of questionable legality in attempts to get back to Tony to pose questions.

When most of the reporters had thankfully vacated the building (or been forcibly removed, it didn't matter), Tony was struck by the urge to find that young photographer that had been so savagely beaten up. As he rushed out of the tower, avoiding a couple of lingering reporters, he wildly looked around for the young man.

What was he supposed to say?

_Hi, sorry about the huge fight thing. Yeah, and sorry that you happened to get caught in the crossfire, it was a completely unnecessary fight, but you probably got a few good photos out of it, right?_

It only took his third or fourth scan of the immediate vicinity to locate the kid's boss, and sure enough, he was right next to him. A short brunette woman (Miss Brant, possibly?) stood with them.

Tony had no plans to go anywhere near the kid when Jameson was around still, but thankfully, the kid was greeted by a pretty blonde girl, and Jameson shouted a farewell, hauling Miss Brant away, leaving the photographer alone with the girl.

Excellent.

"How did the conference go?" Gwen asked Peter. He shifted his non-destroyed leg and opened his mouth to answer, but his boss beat him to it.

"It went fantastically!" Mr. Jameson interrupted. "At the rate it's going, we'll have that wall-crawling menace and that hazard Iron-Man put away behind bars!" Betty Brant rolled her eyes.

Gwen's smile became slightly fixed. "That's great, Mr. Jameson."

"Yes, it is! It'll take no time at _all _to have that stupid-"

"Have you considered that Spider-Man is trying to help?" Gwen interjected coldly.

Peter winced and hoped that Jameson would leave soon. His boss and Gwen had never gotten along that well.

Jameson's eyes narrowed. "I see you've been converted into supporting that criminal! May I remind you he was responsible for the death of your father?"

It was Gwen's turn to narrow her eyes. "Mr. Jameson, if you are seriously-"

Thankfully, Betty cleared her throat loudly and conspicuously.

"Mr. Jameson," she said sternly, "we have to print the front page. We need to get back to the _Bugle._" She stared at him. Betty was the only one that could really take control of Jameson. At least occasionally.

"Why are you wasting time, Betty?" Jameson barked. Not this occasion. "We have to print the front page! Stop blabbering!"

He grabbed Betty's arm and began hauling her away. "Bye, Parker! Don't be late tomorrow or you're fired!"

Betty waved her free hand in goodbye. Then the crowd of reporters swallowed up Peter's coworker.

Gwen shook her head, her eyes filled with cold fury. "He's so-"

"The English language does not have the right words to describe that man."

"No," Gwen agreed icily. "It doesn't." She took hold of Peter's least injured arm and gently tugged him in the direction of the subway. "Let's go back to your aunt's."

They had taken barely five steps when a loud voice yelled at them.

"Oh no," Peter winced.

* * *

"Hey! Photographer kid!" Tony yelled when Jameson was a safe distance away. The photographer and his girlfriend had started walking (limping, hobbling, whatever) away. Tony hadn't realized that the kid had an ankle in a brace. Well duh, that's why he had the crutch.

The boy warily looked around, and the girl did too. When the girl fixed her eyes on Tony as the source of the noise, her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

"Look, I didn't want to come to the conference," The boy said quickly when Tony neared. "Jameson only brought me to get one-up on you, he doesn't actually care much, I really don't want to get involved-"

Tony waved away his stammering. "Hey, I'm not gonna beat you up."

"You beat up Spider-Man," the girl interrupted coldly. "Someone who was trying to help. Forgive him for not being one hundred percent trusting of you."

Tony tried ignore her, but she was addressing an issue that he had come over to discuss. "I needed to apologize to you anyway, even if you hadn't come to conference. I shouldn't have been attacking Spider-Man, and if I hadn't, then you wouldn't be out of order. So, kid, what's your name, and are you in college?"

The boy tilted his head slightly and blinked. The girl scrunched her brows up in a 'what-the-fuck?' face.

"Um, Peter Parker, and yes."

"OK, great. Expect an apology any day soon. Probably in your bank account."

Peter blinked again and his mouth opened slightly, and Tony Stark walked back to the Stark tower, not concealing the smirk on his face. Oh, this kid was going to think that getting caught in the crossfire was a turning point in his life.

* * *

"Is he- is he going to pay for you to go to college?" Gwen stared at him dumbly.

"Um… maybe?"

* * *

Tony planted himself into his wheely chair and lazily spun in a circle.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., can you find a 'Peter Parker'? I owe him money."

_Sir, I have all your current debts on my system. You have zero, _J.A.R.V.I.S. stated in his mechanized voice.

"Nah, this is new. He got busted up when we were bringing in Spider-Man. This is kinda compensation. I meant can you find him on the internet, any files on him from the police, hack his Facebook, tumblr, etcetera. I need to find him."

_Certainly, sir. _J.A.R.V.I.S. stopped talking, and a faint beeping echoed through the room as the search began.

Tony sighed, stretched a hand out to stop the chair spinning and poured himself a glass of brandy. He leaned back, mulling over the events that had driven him to meet this photographer- Peter Parker.

He had been sure that no one had been seriously injured in the events of yesterday. In fact, he made sure explicitly that all the fighting was done in the air so people wouldn't get hurt/killed/heavily traumatized.

But this kid. He didn't look as if he'd accidentally gotten hit by a piece of shrapnel. It was like the kid had been given to the Avengers and had been beaten up by them separately. Then hit by a bus, put on a rack, and put in a fridge during a nuclear explosion like in the last _Indiana Jones _movie.

Tony shook his head and pulled a spare repulsor from the desk closer to him and attacked it with a screw driver.

Well, most superhero antics had more casualties. This was one kid that had gotten hurt, and thankfully not killed.

Speaking of people getting hurt, Tony wondered how Spider-Man was faring. Fury hadn't mentioned the topic of the webslinger since he had been brought aboard the helicarrier. Presumably because Fury knew he would get his ass kicked by Steve if the Cap was reminded of the abduction.

_Search complete, sir._

Tony spun his wheelie chair around and nearly fell out. "Cool. What'd you find?" He downed the rest of his brandy, hoping that J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn't noticed.

_Very smooth, sir. Peter Parker is nineteen year old male living in Queens with his aunt, May Parker. His parents were Richard and Mary Parker-_

"The _Parkers? _I remember them! Richard worked with Osborn!" Tony was surprised he hadn't recognized the family resemblance. "Parker was a genius! Why's his kid living in _Queens?"_

_If I may continue, sir? _J.A.R.V.I.S. asked, his computer voice somehow sounding a bit pissed off. _Peter Parker has been living with his aunt since Richard and Mary Parker's deaths. The young Mr. Parker has won multiple science awards for engineering and biology, and has applied for a scholarship to Oxford University for a photography course._

"He's a science geek and he's doing _photography?" _Tony asked disgustedly. "What a waste of brains."

_I believe he is planning to do a course for genetic engineering as well. He will travel to England next year if successful, with his girlfriend Miss Gwendolyn Stacy, who has been awarded scholarship already._

"Oh, so she's a smart one too!"

_It would seem so, sir. She manufactured the antidote which healed Doctor Connors and the police officers overcome by the lizard formula._

Tony suddenly realized what a scholarship actually was. "Wait, so he doesn't have to pay for college anyway!"

_Only if he is successful in gaining a scholarship. According to the Oxford website I hacked, his chances are particularly high._

Tony groaned and leaned back in the chair, which was precariously balanced on two wheels. "What does he _need?_" How was he supposed to- Oh.

"He lives in Queens with his aunt. Pay for all their bills for the next ten years. Anonymously."

_Certainly, sir._

"And do Parker and his lady friend have jobs?"

_Sir, are you suggesting what I think-_

"You know me so well, J.A.R.V.I.S."

* * *

**I hope that made up for the last chapter. Apologies for any OOCness, especially with Betty Brant. I don't really know what her character is like except from a viewing of the original Spider-Man movies. And I have discovered page breaks! Wow, I can't believe I forgot about those for the first couple of chapters. Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading!**


	5. 5

**Sorry for the delay guys! Unfortunately this is one of those boring chapters that are necessary. I also thought I should point out that the events of _The Winter Soldier _have not taken place. Happy reading!**

* * *

Steve threw a punch into the punching-bag as the radio burbled meaningless behind him. It hurt, it usually did, perhaps because he had incorrect technique, but pain was good sometimes.

Pain helped him forget.

It let him forget a lot of things.

Like waking up after the sensation of being asleep for a few seconds, waking up to a messed up world that was so needlessly complicated and everything good had gone. He woke up, still 27, feeling like it was only days since Bucky had fallen and gone. Peggy had a family and had grown old, and after that her memory had holes torn through it. He visited her several times, and each time she sobbed. "Steve!" she said. "You're alive. It's been so long!" And then she would have a coughing fit, and everything would start all over again.

After he visited her he went to the sand bag and pummeled it until the chain broke and it burst open on the ground.

He wouldn't pick up another one that day, mostly because he frequently destroyed punching bags and it seemed a waste. He heard a lot now about people in countries far away, people that starved to death with their children, earning the equivalent of 5 cents a day. That punching-bag cost enough to feed one family for a long time.

Steve had never heard about this when he was living in the slums of Brooklyn. He supposed it had always happened, but people were so much more focused on their own life that they never were told about the people in those poor countries.

It hadn't improved much over the last 70 years. People suffered still and everyone else knew about it, they just found they couldn't spare the time to think or care about it.

In any case, Steve wasn't beating up the bag to forget the war, or how the world had barely improved.

He was trying to forget about Spider-Man.

Steve swatted the bag one last time before he let his arms fall to his side, once-combed hair falling limply in his eyes. The bag swung a few times, like Spider-Man did on his webs.

He shot out a hand and stilled the punching-bag.

Steve really didn't like getting angry. He hated that feeling of burning fury in his chest and behind his eyes. But he couldn't think of Spider-Man and Director Fury without that volcanic heat boiling up under his skin.

How dare Fury.

How dare he manipulate Steve into trying to take out a child in a costume, a child that was doing what was morally right. He could hear Fury's voice now.

_"__Captain, this vigilante has been committing crimes all around the city and is responsible for the death of the NYPD chief. He is dangerous. You need to take him out or bring him in."_

An uncomfortable redness built up around his peripheral vision. _Stop, _he reminded himself. _There is nothing you can do about it now except look out for Spider-Man. _ He bit his lip and bent his head down, staring resolutely as he unbandaged his hands. _Think about something else._

But what was there to think of?

Everything he understood, everything that was _home _was gone. Bucky was dead, Peggy was as good as, Howard was too, and when he tried to find any remaining Howling Commandos, he found that he had woken up one month after the last one, Jacques Dernier, had died peacefully in France.

Steve disliked sulking as much as anyone, and it was exceedingly out of character for him, but he really couldn't help it this once. He folded the bandages up and put them in his pocket (waste not, want not, right?)

_"__Earlier today, it was revealed that there had been one civilian injured in the attack on Spider-Man by Captain America and the Iron Man, Tony Stark." _The woman on the radio said tonelessly.

Steve's head shot straight up and turned to the radio. It, like everything else, was unnecessarily complex, but he had it figured out pretty quickly. Honestly, who wanted to record music from the radio when the internet existed?

One good thing that 70 years of inventions had brought.

_"__The photographer of _The Daily Bugle, _19 year-old Peter Parker, was severely injured in the fight between the super-heroes. Fortunately it seems that there will be no lasting damage, as he was present at the earlier press conference at which Tony Stark argued profusely with Parker's employer, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson-"_

Steve tuned out again as the reporter started talking about Tony.

A child had been injured in the attack.

That brought the tally up to two. How many more people would they find that had been injured because of him?

Steve's reverie was broken as he heard the familiar sound of repulsors outside.

"I don't need this right now," he said aloud. His words didn't block out the sound of Tony tripping over various objects and swearing. It was bad enough that he was partly responsible for the beating of a relatively innocent person and an extremely innocent person.

"Hey! Steve!" It was worse now that the other perpetrator was in the room _with him at that very moment._

He heard the uncoordinated sound of Tony's shoes scuffing through the remaining sand from a previously ruptured punching bag.

"I've got good news!"

_Good _news? That _was _news.

"About what?"

"The kid that got beat up when we were getting Spidey!"

"I don't understand how that's good news, Stark."

Tony stood in front of him, and Steve was struck by how much shorter Stark actually was. The suit put a good two inches on him.

"It's good because I've talked the kid and I know exactly how to make it up to him."

"I hope it's a good idea, because being savagely beaten warrants an apology."

"Yeah, I apologized," Tony said with a wave of his hand. "Sort of. The news is that he lives in Queens."

"Queens."

"Yeah, Queens. I'm paying for all his family's bills for the rest of their lives and I'm gonna give him and his girlfriend jobs if they want them."

Steve's eyebrow had been making a steady incline, but the last bit surprised him and it dropped down to its normal state. "Jobs? At Stark Industries? You mean as receptionists, right?"

"Nah, I had J.A.R.V.I.S. look them up, and they're both geniuses! The boy's parents were famous geneticists and it's rubbed off on him. His lady friend, Miss Stacy, she just seems to have gotten the genius gene from nowhere. Her dad was a police officer, and if I remember, not that bright."

"Was?"

"I think he got killed a few years ago. The point is, I'm making it up to the two of them because of the stress and whatever."

A tiny little petal from the great fucking flower of guilt in Steve's chest dropped off. There was the remaining flower left, though.

"What about Spider-Man?" he asked.

Tony shrugged. "I guess next time we see him, we give him a big apology and a hug." He leant against the punching-bag and hastily straightened again as he nearly fell over.

"Be serious, Stark."

"Really? I think we should look out for him. Make sure nothing else happens. Be his Guardian Avengers."

Steve let out a breath. "That's what I was thinking. Without the cliché titles."

"I thought they were cool."

"I am 95 years old and I know that they were not cool by any definition."

Tony folded his arms. "Well, I'm leaving to demonstrate how offended I am, and to accost a couple of teenagers. See ya around, Capsicle." He darted around Steve and the scattered sand and sped out the door. The familiar sound of Stark navigating through the junk at the entrance of the building floated into Steve's ears, before the blast that signified Tony's dramatic exit sounded.

Steve shook his head. Maybe Howard wasn't dead, he had just been replaced by his enigmatic son.

He was a friend, anyhow.

* * *

Peter kissed Gwen goodbye after she walked him home and watched her leave. The weather wasn't all that spectacular, so the wind had messed her hair up in the walk home. Her sleeves were wet with coffee from when they stopped at a café to buy lunch and she leant in a puddle of spilled latte, and she had absently ran her fingers through her fringe. This had led to coffee all through her bangs.

She still looked beautiful.

Of course, Gwen could dress as a tractor and still look beautiful.

Aunt May thought so too.

"You're a lucky boy, Peter," she said, coming to stand by him whilst wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"Yeah, I know."

Aunt May put an arm around his shoulder and gently took his crutch. "It's not often you find someone who is your equal. I was lucky in that case, too."

"Equal? You kept Uncle Ben in line with your spatula and kitchen knives."

Aunt May lightly slapped him on the shoulder. "That's not true, Peter."

Peter raised his eyebrow.

"It wasn't the _spatula..._"

* * *

Gwen's walk home was more memorable than she'd have preferred.

The rain was not memorable.

The wind was not memorable.

Even nearly getting hit by a cab was not memorable.

The billionaire in a flying metal suit caught her by surprise though.

Especially when he landed in front of her, in the middle of the sidewalk, where _everyone _started staring.

He landed heavily, in a puddle, and an elderly woman walking past was drenched. She gave Iron Man an evil glare and muttered something about "Youngsters and their high-tech nonsense" and carried on walking with her poodle.

"Hi, Miss Stacy," he said nonchalantly. "How are you? Where's Parker?"

"Uh-" Gwen floundered for words. "Fine, Mr. Stark. How do you know my name? And if you're looking for Peter, he's not here, obviously."

"I looked you and Peter up after the press conference."

Gwen's mouth stiffened. "That is an abuse of privacy."

"True, but it'll benefit you both."

Gwen folded her arms. "How so?"

Some unknown sound must have distracted him because he paused and remained completely silent for a few seconds.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

Okay, there was obviously a phone or something on the inside of the mask.

"Okay. Yeah. Nah, I know what you mean."

She pulled out her own phone and hurriedly texted Peter.

_iron man just stopped me in the street and started talking 2 me_

"What? When did that happen?" Mr. Stark said in disbelief to the person on the phone.

**Bing.**

Wow, it didn't take long for a reply. She looked at the screen.

_wat._

Oh, Peter was so literate.

**Bing.**

_what does he want. _

"Are you actually _joking? _Tell Clint he's an idiot."

**Bing.**

_if he wants to beat u up ill be there in 40 sec_

Gwen smirked. The perfect example of her boyfriend's idiotic sense of humour and overprotectiveness.

_nah he just said he was looking us up on the net and itll be to our 'benefit' somehow_

"For fuck's sake, he _put his hearing aid on 20%? _Is he _trying _to piss me off?"

_now hes bitching on the phone about some dude called clint_

**Bing.**

_i think thats hawkdude_

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll tell her. Give Clint a punch from me. Yeah, whatever. Wh- _bye_, Romanoff."

**Bing.**

Another text from Peter came through, but Gwen stuffed her phone back in her pocket as Tony Stark hung up.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

He said 'yeah' a lot.

"How is you creeping on us beneficial?" Gwen asked.

The Iron Man suit shrugged, which was possibly one of the most unnatural things Gwen had ever seen in her life. "Sorry. I can't tell you until Parker's here. It mostly concerns him. Y'know, since shit happened to him in the attack, right?"

She didn't respond.

"I'll talk to you when you've got your boyfriend with you. Bye."

A hot blast from the repulsors dried Gwen's hair as Iron Man took off into the sky.

She took out her phone again. Peter's message flashed on the screen.

_is it about the paying for college thing because i got the letter that said i got the scholarship_

She quickly typed a message back.

_he just said he couldnt tell me unless you were there_

**Bing.**

_asshole._

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the update, guys. It was actually really hard to write, which is strange since like nothing happened. And sorry for OOCness from anyone.**


	6. 6

**I am so sorry for the long delay! I have a few chapters written out, but I need to write the connecting chapters, and it seems I'm just incapable of doing that. Thanks for being so patient, but it's not the most interesting chapter.**

* * *

Peter sighed and sprawled across his bed, scrolling to the message Gwen had sent him and glaring.

_iron man just stopped me in the street and started talking 2 me_

Peter was already aware of how dangerous it was being in a relationship with Gwen when he was Spider-Man, but he felt unfairly angry at Tony Stark for talking to her. He tried to rationalise it in his mind by thinking that Iron Man publicly talking to his girlfriend would put her in danger, but it really wasn't true. Stark's girlfriend, Pepper Potts, was a very public figure, and the one time someone had tried to abduct her, it hadn't ended well at all. Tony Stark talking to some girl on the street would look pretty unremarkable to a criminal mastermind.

So he just texted back:

_wat._

Then, because that seemed pretty unsophisticated, he sent another message following it.

_what does he want._

He had suspicions as to what it might be about, but suddenly he remembered what Stark was capable of.

He quickly texted, _if he wants to beat u up ill be there in 40 sec_

It was meant to be a joke, but Peter found he was worrying quite a lot about what her answer would be.

_**Bing.**_

Her message arrived.

_nah he just said he was looking us up on the net and itll be to our 'benefit' somehow_

What? Maybe he wasn't going to attack Gwen (he felt slightly embarrassed that he worried about that, Tony Stark _had _seemed genuinely sorry), but searching them up on the internet was either paedophilia or just plain creepy. What 'benefit'? What?

Another message from Gwen arrived.

_now hes bitching on the phone about some dude called clint_

Clint? Peter recalled Captain America saying something about a Clint- Barton, was it? And something about arrows...

He nearly slapped himself in the face. _Duh. _This Clint dude must be Hawkeye. Arrows. He texted his epiphany to Gwen.

_i think that's hawkdude_

He could never resist throwing in some insincerity.

_he said he couldn't tell me unless you were there._

Oh, so stopping his girlfriend in the street was all fine and everything, and then apparently pissing off when he saw Peter wasn't there?

Inexcusable.

Peter texted back the words, _asshole. _

Then he threw his phone across the room onto his desk. It nearly missed, landing on the keyboard with such a horrifying clatter that for a second he was sure he had broken both of them. Then his computer screen lit up from the pressure, and so he laid back and- wait, what?

Google Chrome was still open from early that morning, when he had been checking on articles about the Avengers (he wasn't going to risk pissing them off again, even though it was 200% their fault), and the news site had apparently updated. This time with a blurry image of someone on a flying skateboard or something with the large caption reading **GREEN GOBLIN TERRORIZES NEW YORK.**

_Green Goblin? _Peter thought. That had to be Jameson's doing. No one else would nickname a criminal so stupidly. He couldn't read what was below that, so he webbed his wheelie chair from across the room and flopped into it, pushing himself back to his desk. He stared at the picture, squinting. Even his spider-vision couldn't save the details that might have been crucial. So he scrolled down and began reading the article.

The article was written awfully, of course, and the picture was too (Huh. It was Eddie Brock's trash), but it was somehow _genuine._

He scanned the article quickly, absorbing the information as quickly as possible. The information it yielded seemed fairly ridiculous.

It seemed that some man had put on a green mask and gotten on a high-tech glider that forced him to stand in a stance that looked like he'd been kicked hard in the balls, flying around throwing bombs at people and screeching for Spider-Man.

Oh, there it was.

Peter threw his head back and let out a moan. Why did _everyone _want him? Like, literally _everyone, _minus most of the population of the world. But it was so unfair! He just tried to help! And he literally had no idea who this green guy was, apart from the awful nickname his boss had given him.

Peter squashed his self pity with a lot of difficulty and got back to reading the article. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else to read except for interviews with hysterical citizens and "Spider-Man is responsible for this rampant crime" comments by Jameson.

Man, he really needed to find a new job.

* * *

On the subject of jobs and people after Spider-Man, Peter hadn't expected the two to come hand in armoured hand.

Especially on such a nice day.

He'd just been to the Daily Bugle and- to the great disappointment of J. J. Jerkson, had resigned as photographer. It had been a job he'd been thinking of leaving for months, except he needed some way to help pay the bills for Aunt May. Aunt May worked _so _hard, but even she was limited. So Peter's scrappy earnings had been to ensure the power company didn't suddenly decide to cut off the electricity or something. But when Aunt May had phoned the company, promising that they would pay the full amount in a few weeks, the woman on the phone said the computers didn't say that the Parkers had any debt of any sort. In fact, Aunt May had apparently paid up front for the something like the next 30 years of power bills. It was the same with the water bill, the mortgage, _everything. _And so Aunt May had sternly commanded Peter to give up his 'underpaid job under the control of that _conman' _to focus on healing up.

That was all over the period of two or three days. He could hardly believe it.

And that was why he resigned at the _Daily Bugle._

In his ex-boss' defence, the older man had remained remarkably calm during Peter's speech. It was only after he finished that Jameson unleashed the full payload of his voice, probably cracking Peter's multiple casts and permanently damaging his eardrums.

Then Peter had been unceremoniously kicked out of the building by a collection of huge security guards (they'd muttered, "Sorry sorry sorry, Jameson's a dick we know but we do kind of have to kick you out," as they pulled him out of the building).

So Peter was on the street, hobbling along on his almost-healed ankle and his actually-able-to-move-freely arm, and then the familiar blessed sound of repulsors was audible.

"Oh, shiiiit," Peter groaned as he looked up, resignedly watching the Iron Man suit head directly towards him.

Why. Why? Why?!

Tony Stark landed with a crunch on the pavement, leaving large cracks trailing through the sidewalk. The mask flipped up, revealing his face and his dumb beard like he'd missed a spot shaving two weeks consistently.

"Hey, kid! You're looking better!"

"I was feeling better too, then you turned up," Peter snarked immediately. He didn't exactly hold his beating against Stark (well, he actually did, but he wasn't going to say that to his face; snarking was easier), but he wasn't going to just _forgive _him that easily. And he had his actual identity to hide. Best to just pretend to be a resentful victim of the whole situation. "Should I tell my boss I'll be unavailable for the next few weeks due to hospitalisation?"

"Nah, you just got fired, didn't you?"

Wha- how did Tony Stark know these things? How could he possibly know about Peter's resignation when it had literally occurred 3 minutes earlier?

"I quit, actually."

"Well that's extremely fortunate," Tony Stark said.

Peter forced his face to remain blank. What was it supposed to display anyway? Contempt? Fear? What?

"Can you not beat me up this time?" Peter asked, deadpan. "I have stuff to do."

"I thought you were hit by falling debris," Stark said.

Ooh shit. The smarter side of Peter threw its hands up and screamed abuse at him from inside his head. **Dumb-_assssss_**

"I was," Peter said, trying to recover from his slip. "But same result, right?"

He really needed Gwen to make up the excuses for him. If she'd been there, he wouldn't have slipped up so spectacularly and they probably wouldn't be having this conversation.

"So, why did you stop my girlfriend?" He asked. Might as well get on topic, right? Get the pain over and done with.

"Yeah, where is she?" Stark said, turning his head as if somewhere down the street, she was watching their exchange, glaring. Instead he just saw complete strangers glaring, and excited tourists snapping photos.

"Not here."

"Thanks, kid. That's really helpful," he said. He folded his arms, and Peter suddenly had the urge to check whether there were scratches where the arms grated together. "I'll just tell you without her. She didn't take to me well last time."

"Well, no," Peter replied. "She's a big Spider-Man fan."

Tony Stark made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "For God's sake, I didn't _mean-"_

"To mercilessly beat up Spider-Man?"

The older man glared and said, "Let's get back on topic."

"We are on topic, you mentioned Gwen and-"

"Shut up." Tony Stark appeared to be getting more exasperated, and Peter found that he was enjoying himself immensely. "I actually wanted to ask you and your lady friend if you wanted jobs at Stark Industries."

What?

Jobs?

At _Stark frickin' Industries?_

"What, like as receptionists?" Peter very carefully chose his words and attempted to have a calm exterior, despite the fact that inside he was screaming like a child getting what they most wanted for Christmas. Stark Industries. _Stark Industries. **Stark Industries.**_

"Nah, I looked you two up, which I assume Miss Stacy already told you about. You two are smart. Even if I am smarter-" Peter rolled his eyes, "-we could still use more smart people."

"Good to know my future boss will be so incredibly modest."

Stark blinked. "That's a yes? Great! You start work on Thursday." An ID card with Peter's face on it suddenly appeared in the billionaire's hand and he shoved it in Peter's direction. "The elevator talks. It's J.A.R.V.I.S., my AI security system. He likes intelligent conversation. Just so you don't shit yourself when he talks."

Peter opened his mouth to say something (possibly to ask a question or to grovel in gratitude), but his hair was blown back suddenly and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against a hot blast of air.

When he opened them again, Tony Stark was gone, and Peter was standing there with his new job (oh thank god) cradled in his hands. The few pedestrians that had watched the exchange went back to their business as Peter wrenched his phone out of his pocket and dialed Gwen.

"_Hello?"_

"Gwen, Gwen! It's me! You won't _believe _what just happened!"

* * *

**I'd like to thank you all so much again for your patience. I hope for the next chapter to come out quicker, but I'm very slow at writing this fic unfortunately.**


	7. 7

**Hello! I'm afraid it's not the longest chapter, but I'll hopefully squeeze out one or two more before school starts up again.**

* * *

Peter shivered. It wasn't cold, not even remotely, but it was his first day working at _Stark Industries._

It was hard to believe. It was one of those things that had never seemed possible at all, even in the most desperate depths of his imagination, but it was real and _happening._

As he stared at the glass doors, serious-looking men and women in lab coats strutting out, he wished for the billionth time that Gwen had accepted the job offer too.

"It's nothing to do with you, Peter," Gwen had told him when he delivered Tony Stark's message. "It's just I don't like Tony Stark, and I work at Oscorp. And Oscorp suits my needs, y'know? I like genetics and biology. Stark Industries is more to do with engineering and fancy technological stuff. My interests really lie with what Oscorp does."

It was all perfectly reasonable and Peter was glad Gwen knew precisely where she wanted to have a career, but as a matter of fact, he was still a bit desperate. Yes, he was applying for a photography course at Oxford. True, he loved science. And now he was walking into Stark Industries for a new job.

His face felt hot, a startling contrast the cold shiver he had experienced moments before. He was so anxious, but not for the job. Just because he literally had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

He wasn't complaining that Tony Stark had hired him. No way.

It was just Peter knew he had his whole life ahead of him, and he didn't know how to spend it.

Career-wise, of course. He was definitely planning to stay with Gwen and hopefully not go to jail, and he was obviously going to stick his mask on and go swinging through the streets. But a _career. _Like a job he would want to keep doing for the rest of his life. And getting hired by Stark had just awakened every fear a typical college student suffered.

AGGGH.

Why was it so _hard _to decide on a career_? _He was almost nineteen, for God's sake, he should know by now. Gwen knew what she was gonna do.

Then again, Gwen had known what she was going to do with the rest of her life since she was ten.

A scientist striding by gave Peter and odd look, and he realized he must have been standing there blank faced, moonboot and crutches still present (more for an act that for actual need; his powers had very quickly healed him up) for at least five minutes.

"Okay," he said aloud. "Here goes. Phew. Source of income. Company belonging to a genius. Cool, great."

And he stepped through the doors.

It was a lot less graceful than it sounded though, since he tripped over at least three people with his moonboot and nearly stabbed someone with a crutch. But he made it inside, at least.

He'd been inside for about twenty seconds when a burly, angry looking security guard barged up to him.

"Are you Parker?" he asked loudly. He had thin hair and a demeanor that said he was used to taking shit and was not going to allow it from a minor. Peter's eyes zeroed in on his badge, an awful picture printed on it and name. He only saw one part of the name.

'Happy'.

"Your name is Happy?" Peter asked in bewilderment. He had never seen someone who looked less like their name suggested.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you're Parker," Happy the pissed-off security guard said, and he grabbed Peter's arm and dragged him off to the elevator.

"Whoa, hey!" he said. "Where're you taking me?" He tried to resist, but Happy's grip was strong, and Peter's moonboot was hindering his every move. "I have life insurance. Probably."

Ugh. Forget about acting, when he got home he was just gonna take the damn boot off.

He was shoved in the elevator unceremoniously, and Happy grunted, "Stark's floor, J.A.R.V.I.S.," and the doors closed really, really quickly. Like so quickly, there was a small gust of air that ruffled Peter's mop of hair.

So he was trapped in an elevator that didn't seem to be moving, all alone. He wondered if there were cameras, and if he was trapped in there for much longer, he could bust out without his identity being revealed.

Shut up, Peter. It's a new job, not the fucking apocalypse.

_Hello, Mr. Parker, _a pleasant electronic voice said.

Peter almost jumped onto the ceiling in surprise, but was hastily reminded that his foot wasn't going to let him go anywhere, and Tony Stark _had _reminded him that the elevator talked

"You're J.A.R.V.I.S., right?" he asked.

_Indeed I am, _the AI said smugly. _You're headed up to Mr. Stark's private floor. He's hoping you will be able to help him on an experiment._

Peter forgot his fears about career choices and possibly being beaten up. It was replaced with eagerness. Like _hell _yeah, Stark wanted him to do an _experiment _on something. That was the coolest thing ever.

"Yeah? What kind of experiment?"

_Alterations on his armour, _J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied. _I believe he is aware of the engineering in a project that you created for a science fair when you were fifteen. Mr. Stark prides himself on recognizing talent in the engineering and technological divisions._

Whoa, _talent? _Peter was becoming more and more glad that he had accepted the job offer. He made a habit of not complaining when his ego was stroked.

_You've arrived at your floor, Mr. Parker._

"What? But the elevator hasn't even-" Peter's sentence was interrupted as the lift doors opened.

Well, apparently the elevator had, in fact, been moving.

He'd barely blinked when Tony Stark's loud voice echoed across the room.

"Peter! Parker! Kid! Whatever," he said.

Oh, boy. Maybe this job wasn't the best idea after all.

* * *

On the contrary, in fact, taking the job was the best thing Peter had ever done in his short, irritable life.

The technology was _great, _of course, and he was secretly toying with the idea of applying for a degree in engineering.

And the job was barely a job, it was fun and had a really high salary. Peter wished he'd applied for an internship there before, but he'd been too busy getting beaten up by mutant lizards to think about working anywhere more complicated than a newspaper company.

All he had to was basically screw around with machinery until he made something. Mr. Stark ("Call me Tony, kid, I'm not the president") delighted in literally _everything _he made. It was mostly stuff like really-really-really- altered webshooters (he made them shoot different cables, to avoid suspicion). Tony Stark didn't seem to make the connection, so that was all well and good. And most surprising of all, he actually got along well with Tony.

Like, really well.

Sure, his boss's arrogance could be annoying, but the dude was pretty funny, he was pretty generous for a billionaire, and he was sort of kind in a really weird dick-bag way.

Peter was utterly confused about Tony Stark, especially with their history (his ankle still creaked when he walked), but after several weeks of working there, he decided that he liked him.

He was smart, funny, and he actually understood what the hell Peter was talking about engineer-wise.

Honestly, best decision ever.

* * *

It had been four weeks since Peter had begun working at Stark Industries, and Gwen was super-glad that he had recovered so well mentally and physically from his injuries.

Although she harbored intense dislike for Tony Stark, his arrogance, the fact that he used to make weapons for profit (yes, that was in the past, but it was kind of a sore spot since those weapons had killed her pen friend living in the Middle East), and that he and Captain America had beaten the crap out of Peter, she had to admit, it was good to see Peter so happily working for his hero.

When she had first begun dating Peter, she had been hopelessly aware of his admiration for Captain America and Tony Stark. The Cap for his contribution in the Second World War, and because Peter was a huge fanboy of the Howling Commandoes (He had a poster of them in his room, and multiple black and white photos of them on a pinboard). He admired Stark for his mind and his inventions, although he had the same dislike for the weapons.

She liked Peter's pacifism.

When he'd been recovering from his injuries, Peter had been really different, especially about his heroes. Gwen knew how much those two particular members of the Avengers meant to him; growing up, they were his role models.

They were _everyone's _role models.

And Peter hadn't talked about Tony Stark or Captain America in the same way. He scowled when they appeared in newspapers, and didn't mention them unless they were brought up unintentionally by friends and family.

But he really seemed to have gotten over it.

Peter was a smart boy, she knew that. And if he had decided to trust the two superheroes again, then that was what she was going to do. Even though she didn't have to like them, she had to believe that they would do the right thing and look after Peter, and also _not try to kill Spider-Man._

That was really her biggest peeve.

Other than that, she was fine.

* * *

**Sorry it jumps around a bit. I want to get the boring stuff over so the real action can start :) **

**Thanks again for you patience with the last chapter, I'm aware it was a really long time to update. But as it gets more exciting, it should be easier for me to write!**


	8. 8

**Sorry, this chapter is really just rushing into the excitement. I just want to get the boring stuff over, so I can (hopefully) upload more frequently.**

* * *

"Hand me the blowtorch, Peter," Tony Stark ordered, not looking up from his current project, his right hand waving impatiently in Peter's direction. The teenager fumbled around for the torch, finding it surprisingly quickly, as it was not altogether safely buried under myriad empty Chinese takeaway cartons.

"Yeah, here." Tony scrunched his fingers in a 'gimme' gesture, and the device was pushed into them. His repulsors in the hands of the suit were playing up big-time, nearly making him blow up the extra piano when he tried to take off inside. Pepper had delivered him the most disgusted look possible, and had instructed him to "go play with your toys somewhere where I don't have to worry about you burning the house down". Naturally, that had led him to cautiously fly to Stark Tower, suit-to-be-fixed swinging in a remarkably strong tote bag that neither he nor Pepper possessed, and had given up trying to match it back to its owner.

"Whatcha making?' Peter asked, poking a strange ball of filament into a tiny device with a pencil. "Or fixing?" He dropped the pencil and cursed as the lead snapped off and the substance rocketed out of the tiny device straight into his face.

"I'm fixing my repulsors," he replied, amused, watching Peter struggle and swear quietly as he pulled the thread of his face. The kid looked like he'd run through a haunted house, cobwebs catching all over. "And what the hell are _you _making?"

"This?" the boy asked, trying to pull the last few filaments out of his hair, wincing as a good deal of hair came with it. "Well… I'm trying to replicate Spider-Man's webthings."

"I see." The kid didn't look as if he knew what he was doing. "It's working fantastically."

"I'm well aware," Peter said, poking the webshooter with the stump of pencil. Honestly, he was using a _pencil. _In just about the most well-equipped, high-tech garage on the planet. "But the webshooters are just so _cool, _he can just _thwip _everywhere." He pretended to shoot webs everywhere.

"You're a nerd."

"Yeah, but Spider-Man's pretty cool."

"Yeah, but I'm cooler and I don't see you making your own repulsors."

"Eh, the webs seem more elegant," Peter said with a grin. "Sure, it's easy to beat the crap out of someone when you got metal fists, but it takes awesomeness to put the time and effort to tie them up and make them look dumb."

"If Spider-Man's so awesome, how come I beat him in a fight?"

"You had Captain America. That's cheating. He'd have thrashed you if your cute little shield hadn't been there."

It had taken several weeks for the boy to realize he could make derogatory jokes towards Tony. And now that he realized his boss was cool with it, he had never stopped.

"That statement is horrifyingly false. Spider-Man was beaten before Capsicle even arrived." He felt a twinge as he said that. The guilt still hadn't fully left…"Anyway, that kid's technology is good, but kind of primitive-" Peter looked overdramatically forlornly at his broken webshooter "-and messy. If I found Spider-Man again, the first thing I'd do is give the dumb kid some actual decent materials to work with."

"And the first thing you would do is _not _punch him to oblivion?"

"Nah. Punching him up's second."

Peter got a curious look on his face, but he bent down and began taking apart the failure he called a webshooter.

"He'd probably appreciate it. Not the beating up part, the 'give me expensive shit to play with' part. I know if I was Spider-Man, I'd probably be grateful. Ish."

"But you're not Spider-Man."

"I know. Oh, the cross I bear."

"You can't hold up a crutch, much less a cross."

"Nope." Peter flexed an imaginary bicep. Anything that was there was either nonexistent or hidden under his baggy shirt. "Look at that. At least strong enough to lift a building."

"Uh huh."

The boy gave him a sly look. "Stronger than you, I bet."

It was almost alarming how quickly they started arm wrestling.

* * *

Pepper stopped outside the door, bracing herself for whatever was going to be behind it.

Yesterday they built a flying ballista in the shape of a dog. It had nearly escaped and it was only under the pressure of her yelling that Tony and Peter meekly dismantled it.

Three days ago, the sight behind the door was half the laboratory smashed on the ground while Parker hysterically laughed as Tony blindly crawled over to a table, oil smeared over his eyes.

A week ago- she didn't even want to remember.

All that _insurance…_

She knocked loudly and pushed the door open, not bothering to wait for an answer.

The sight that greeted her was relatively peaceful. Sure, there were chunks of metal everywhere, and Tony's repulsors didn't appear to have been fixed, judging by their dismantled state and the _still-lit blow torch, God Tony _feebly spitting fire onto nothing, but Peter and Tony had clearly not killed themselves or each other.

Instead, they were frantically and competitively arm wrestling.

"Hey, Pep," Tony said without a glance at her, brow furrowing as Peter's apparent lack of any muscle challenged him. Peter was smirking widely, Tony's arm nearly bent onto the table.

Honestly, Tony did not treat that boy like a good employer should. Peter was more like a nephew than an efficient worker. Pepper did not doubt that he had a good head on his shoulders, and he was always polite to her, but he was surprisingly different to the neatly dressed blonde girl waiting patiently in the elevator, claiming to be his girlfriend.

"Hello, Miss Potts," Peter said cheerfully. Obviously his victory was close.

Tony glowered as his newest employee triumphantly smashed his arm onto the table surface, narrowly missing impaling his forearm on a screwdriver.

"I win!"

Pepper held back a smile as Tony scowled, rubbing his arm.

"I came in to say that a Miss Stacy is waiting in the elevator. She said that you invited her."

"I did?" Peter's young face was confused. Pepper noticed a web-like strand connecting a hunk of hair to an eyelash. It looked like someone had tried to sew the two together. The white strand made the livid red cut across his forehead even more noticeable.

"Tony did." She sent a glare her partner's way. He practically doubled up on himself trying to avoid her gaze.

Forget aliens or Nick Fury. There were only two things that man was scared of. 1: Losing her and 2: Her.

"I did?" Tony asked.

* * *

Pepper slumped at her desk.

Gwen had been remarkably understanding at Tony completely forgetting that she was supposed to come, and Tony had been remarkably sincere in his apology for forgetting (and Pepper was sure he still didn't remember). Gwen was a lovely girl, and Pepper could say how she was an excellent influence on her boyfriend. A bit of sensibility was needed in every relationship.

Guess who had that in hers?

There was only so much of Tony and Peter's antics she could take in one day, even if there was a responsible young woman watching them and ensuring they didn't destroy the city, and it was such a relief to be away from them.

She stretched out a hand and poured a glass of water from a jug sitting on her desk, condensation dribbling off the sides onto a mat. It was crisp and refreshing, and she briefly considered taking it back to the lab and tipping it over Tony's head. Partly for amusement, the rest because that man should be treating Peter like an employee, as much as they got along. How was Peter expected to understand what an actual job was like if his current one was practically _playing _with buts and bobs and chunks of machinery?

She reminded herself that Peter was eighteen, he had had a job before working at Stark Industries and he was _clever. _It would really take someone with no brains to believe that careers were all fun and games.

_Miss Potts, _J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted, _do you remember the figure known as the Green Goblin?_

It was bit of a stupid question. The Green Goblin was the only thing _anyone _was talking about at the moment. He was always swooping around the city on a glider that looked too primitive to be a creation of Stark Industries, screaming for Spider-Man and using small bombs to blow up buildings.

Last week, a supermarket in Queens had felt the man's wrath. Before that, a library, a (thankfully empty) school, a church and an expensive restaurant. The only discussion in newspapers, online, at meetings, was _where was he going to attack next?_

"Of course, J.A.R.V.I.S. Why?"

_Mr. Stark's previous programming had forced me to lock down your office, as per usual in the event of an attack. I detect a figure on a gliding approaching the building._

"What!?" Pepper screamed. "Does Tony know? He's got two _kids _in the lab!"

Despite the fact that the lab was where most of his inventions-in-progress lived and due to excessive overprotectiveness, the lab was the least secure room in the whole building, and Pepper's office was the most. Something to do with Tony having enough junky weapons stashed in the lab to protect itself.

Of course, they hadn't actually thought there would _be _an attack.

_I believe the Green Goblin is _in _the lab now, Miss Potts, _J.A.R.V.I.S. informed her, oddly glum for AI.

Pepper sprinted to the window, heels skittering across the hardwood. Tony's lab was a few floors below her office, and since she was locked in her office (thanks, Tony), the only way of seeing what was happening was peering from the window.

All she saw was shattered glass glinting as it fell towards the earth, and Gwen Stacy following close behind.

* * *

**Oh no! Don't worry, I'm actually not a huge bitch. Stay tuned.**

**Oh, and a message to Guest Reviewer Checkerz: I added in the career freak-out purely because that's what's happening to my sister. I think you're absolutely right!, he would know what he's doing! :) It's just a nod in my sister's direction.**


	9. 9

**You guys are spoilt. Two chapters within an hour?**

* * *

As soon as Pepper stepped from the room, Gwen's pleasant smile turned to business.

"Right," she said abruptly. "You're probably aware that I blatantly lied when I said I was invited. The Green Goblin is coming here. It's his next target."

"What?" Peter asked. "How do you know that?"

"Intuition, Parker. No. I looked at all the places he attacked, and they form a circle through New York."

Tony's eyes followed her hand as she yanked a map from apparently nowhere.

"See?" she spread the map out across the table. It was a smallish map that might have been found in a road directory, but it did its job well enough.

Neatly written black Xs marked the places the Goblin had struck. Tony recognized one of them as marking where a nice restaurant had been. He wondered if he should feel slightly guilty that his only regret about it being destroyed was the fact that it was hard to find yiros as good as there.

The Xs trailed around in a circle. Gwen planted a finger dead in the centre, her other hand focused on removing a strand of web from Peter's face.

"See? Stark Tower. You have to evacuate. With a building this tall and full of dangerous weapon prototypes, this is bound to be the most hazardous attack."

"Why's he coming here?" Tony asked. He knew no one was going to be able to answer. "I thought he was after Spider-Man!"

Peter and Gwen exchanged a look. It was so quick that he almost missed it. The boy opened his mouth to reply, but a shattering of glass prevented any further conversation.

A blaze of heat threw Tony and the two teenagers onto the wall at the other side of the room.

"Well, hello!" A gloating voice said. Tony blinked the blur out of his vision.

The Green Goblin stood on his glider, still levitating above the ground.

It was not one classy costume he wore. The mask was frankly ridiculous, large and green and snarling, and the suit wasn't something that would win any fashion shows.

"I'm looking for Spider-Man," the criminal said, staring hard at Tony. Or it seemed like it, anyway, he really _couldn't _see what was going on behind that mask. "And I think _you _might know how to find him."

"Me?" Tony asked, stupefied. Gwen and Peter looked at him as well. Everyone in the room was staring at him. Normally this wasn't a problem, but normally he knew _exactly what was being fucking talked about. _"I don't think that's likely, sunshine. Firstly, I honestly have _no idea _who he is, where he is, nada. Secondly, Spider-Man would rather be nailed to the side of a building than come anywhere _near _me." He wondered if he should yell for J.A.R.V.I.S. to send the Mark 42.

The Green Goblin grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him into the air.

* * *

Well, now he _couldn't _yell.

"Are you sure?" the masked man snarled.

"Positive," Tony remarked surprisingly cheerfully for someone who was likely going to choke to death in a few minutes.

The Goblin leaned forward, obviously trying to intimidate him.

It didn't work.

"Okay," said the Goblin, and Tony found himself back on the ground wheezing.

When he looked up, Gwen was in his position, dangling from the Goblin's hands.

* * *

"Where's Spider-Man?" The Goblin asked again. "I _will_ kill her."

"He doesn't know who Spider-Man is, fucker," Gwen growled. Her voice was slightly raspy from the pressure on her throat.

"No wait, stop!" Tony yelled, stretching a hand out. The Green Goblin raised Gwen higher. "I don't know who Spider-Man is! I don't! I don't know where he is or who he is!"

He could see Peter's expression growing murderous, and he grabbed the boy's arm tightly to stop him from doing something stupid.

"What? You don't want me to kill her?" He jeered. "Why don't you just tell me where's Spider-Man?" Gwen aimed a kick at his groin, but she was lifted even further into the air.

"Put me down!" she demanded. "Because I swear, there are people who can and _will_ kill you if you hurt me." Her expression was scared, of course, but with a type of steel that she must have learned from her late father. Police officer, right?

"I am hurting you."

"I meant more!" Gwen's snarl was cut off in a squeak as the Goblin squeezed her neck.

Peter's hands were shaking. Tony could feel them trembling so hard, so quickly (way faster than was humanely possible) that they were a blur at his sides. Even without his hands trembling, Tony could tell how fast the boy's heart was beating, as the cut across his forehead began dribbling a scarlet line down his face, snaking around his features like a river travelling between mountains. Tony's grip on Peter's arm pulsed with the boy's bloodstream.

"We. Don't. Know."

Gwen's face was red, verging on purple. She was sending a look to Peter; something like _don't say anything or I will kill you._

No one said anything.

Then the Goblin broke the silence.

"Well, if you don't know, then I'm done," the Green Goblin stated in a bored tone, and threw Gwen right through the remaining window.

* * *

Tony barely registered the _smash _of glass shattering and the sound of expletives leaving Gwen and Peter's mouths in large amounts. He could only think, _I don't have my suit._

This was his fault. Gwen was going to die, and so was Peter, all because Tony had invited- no wait, she said she made that up. Well, they were going to die anyway.

And he wasn't counting on Peter leaping out the window after Gwen.

Then it was just him and the Green Goblin, standing there, absolutely bewildered.

"Did he actually just do that?" The Green Goblin asked.

"I- I think so."

"Your employee is an idiot and will die an idiot."

Tony did his own leap (it wasn't as graceful as Peter's) to the window and looked out, expecting to see two bloody patches (or maybe one big one) on the pavement, far below.

He didn't see that.

He didn't see anything. Anything at all. Noth- wait! There was a thin thread blowing in the slight wind. He recognized it immediately.

"Spider-Man," growled the Green Goblin. "Those kids have friends in high places."

With that, he followed Peter and Gwen out the window, and somehow disappeared too.

"_Shit!" _Tony yelled at a level that could have smashed the window if it wasn't already broken. Then he snarled, "_J.A.R.V.I.S.! Send the mark 42!" _

Within 40 seconds of Gwen's initial exit from the building, the room was empty, all occupants having departed in the same manner.

* * *

Gwen fell for only a few seconds before the horror of her imminent death actually dawned. Those first seconds were mostly filled with loud swearing, feeling cuts from the broken window, and the pissed-off thought of _that fucker threw me out of the window._

Then the real terror started.

She was facing the ground, which shot up to meet her in a manner that seemed cheerful. A few pedestrians looked up and shrieked, running.

Gwen wished she could run too. But she couldn't even scream. Her eyes widened as the ground came closer, and then she shut them, because there was no way she was going to _watch _herself die.

Was Peter going to save her? If he was, hopefully he would have the sense to put on the mask, and to avoid dislocating his shoulder or ankle. He was an idiot.

An idiot that she was going to _die for. _She could barely keep back the annoyed cutting through her abject terror.

Then came the familiar arm around her waist, and her fall was stopped suddenly, making her lose her breath and making her head snap forward painfully, but she was safe, she was safe, she was safe.

She twisted her head to get a look at Spider-Man, but it wasn't Spider-Man, it was Peter. Stupid, skinny little Peter who hadn't put the mask on.

"Peter, he'll _see _you." She looked up the Stark Tower, not seeing where she had fallen from. But there were no heads poking out of windows, anywhere at all. She heard a few pedestrians shout, and when she looked down, a couple were pointing and directing cameras at them. "_They'll _see you!"

"Uh, no they won't," Peter mumbled illiterately. He swung them into an already-broken window that was much closer to the ground and they collapsed onto the carpet. Gwen could swear she heard a _crack _when they went through the window, which was confirmed when Peter immediately groaned. "_Oh-h-h…"_

Gwen immediately made a grab for Peter's previously dislocated arm. "Peter I swear to god if you have dislocated it again…"

But she couldn't tell him off, she couldn't, not when he had just risked his identity to save her life. So she just kissed him briefly, and wiped away the blood that was trailing down his face. The cut on his forehead had opened up with stress.

"My arm's fine," Peter mumbled against her hand stemming the flow of blood from his forehead. "I think I busted my ankle again though. I'm Spider-Man, I shouldn't have to deal with embarrassing injuries."

"You fucking idiot," Gwen settled for insulting him and holding him close.

"What about you?" he asked, lifting his hand up to stroke her neck. When her throat felt hot to his touch, and he spied bruises forming, he frowned. "I'm going to _kill _that son of a-"

"Language, Parker. Ask yourself, would Aunt May approve?"

She didn't find out whether Aunt May would have approved or not, because Tony Stark rocketed through the window, nearly tripping on the sill. He landed just as loudly as they did, leaving cracks in the floor, and a table completely demolished.

"Oh my _god, _you're both still alive!" Tony Stark yelled as the Iron Man suit's mask flipped up.

Peter grinned. "Yeah, we're hard to kill." The grin faltered when he tried to move his foot, and his face paled.

Stark grabbed a table leg when he saw Peter wince and hold his ankle. "How? Like how could you _possibly _survive that fall and somehow appear on this level?"

Gwen opened her mouth to reply with some extravagant lie, but Peter beat her to it, with the truth. Or something close to the truth anyway.

"Spider-Man!" he beamed. "I didn't see where he went after he dumped us in here, but he just swung by and saved us."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised he was anywhere _near _the tower after the shit Cap and I put him through."

Peter's face assumed its 'think quickly but look natural expression'.

"He likes him," Gwen intervened. Peter's eyebrow gave an infinitesimal quirk. "As in, Spider-Man's kind of got a soft spot for Peter. I think it's because Peter always takes really great pictures of him for _The Daily Bugle_."

"Yeah, he talks to me a lot when I'm shooting pictures," Peter said, catching on. "Like, 'can you take it from my right side, my suit's a bit ripped on the left,' and he always asked me how school was going and stuff before I graduated."

Tony's face twisted into an expression that was difficult to read. It could have been 'do you think I'm a fucking idiot', or 'that's a very interesting story'. Gwen tightened her grip on Peter's hand.

"Have you spoken to him since I took him out? I haven't seen him around as much and he looks kind bad."

Apparently that expression was actually 'I feel bad for beating the shit out of him'.

"Um, yeah!" Peter said, relieved. Gwen's grip loosened. "He doesn't actually take it that personally. I mean, it pissed him off a lot, but he figured you were doing your job, and Spider-Man said the view he got of the helicarrier was pretty cool."

Tony scratched his head with the leg of the table that was going to become Peter's splint. "And his injuries are healing up?"

Gwen nodded, taking over. "Yeah, he heals much faster than Peter here," she patted his arm. It was a lie, since Peter was only healing a little faster than the average human, considering the extent of his injuries. It seemed to have thrown off his superhuman healing by a large amount.

Peter joined in again. "He's actually a really big fan of you, Mr. Stark." Gwen shot him a warning look that Tony missed.

Tony twitched. "Seriously?"

"And Cap. And Dr. Banner. Basically all of you Avengers. He made his web shooters using some old stuff and a bit of your tech. He's very proud of them. He shows me how he's updated them all the time."

Tony's eyebrow, which had lowered earlier, shot up again like an alert.

Gwen pinched Peter's arm. _Too much, genius, _it seemed to say. _Remember this guy made an arc reactor in a cave._

"You're his confidantes." Tony's brain skills were demonstrated. "You help him get around, help him fight crime, keep his secrets, help him. You're both really smart, so it's probably you two who design his web-shooters and stuff. How else would you know all the stuff about him? I'm not stupid. And Peter, who were literally _making _a webshooter ten minutes ago."

There was a pregnant pause.

Well, he was nearly correct. Except for the 'stupid' part. It wasn't even a _decent_ lie and it fooled him.

Ah, well. Gwen's and Peter's genius intellects were rare crosses to bear. They might as well play along.

"Yeah, okay," Peter sighed.

Gwen exhaled heavily from her nose. _ I hope you know what you're doing, Peter. _"Yeah. For quite a while now."

The eyebrow wiggled menacingly.

"Well, it's not like we were just going to _tell _you we know him!" Peter said defensively. "That would be a blatant abuse of trust!"

Tony sighed and his eyebrow dropped to its proper place. "Okay. Well, I guess that wasn't completely unexpected." He handed over the table leg that everyone had forgotten about.

Gwen gently and surreptitiously elbowed Peter in the side. "And Spider-Man asked Peter to deliver a message. It was going to be anonymously, but since you know about us, then he might as well just say it." She started ripping up a random lab-coat that was hanging over a chair into strips, waiting for Peter to respond. Gwen laid the table leg parallel to Peter's and began bandaging them together.

"Spider-Man wants - ow- to talk to Fury. He's considering working for- _ouch, jeez- _S.H.I.E.L.D. as long as he doesn't have to give up his identity to anyone, including- _OW mother-fu- _that eye-patch guy. I mean, the dude hasn't even told _us _who he is. Privacy and all that stuff, I guess."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, all Fury said he wanted was to know for sure that Spider-Man was on our side. Do you want me to pass on the message to Director Douchebag?" he asked.

"Yeah. Demand that no weapons be around to- _FUCK- _sorry, because he's really not comfortable talking to you guys if he thinks you're about to blow him up."

"Makes sense."

A low explosion shook the room and more glass fell from the window like paint flaking away.

"What happened to the Green Goblin?" Gwen asked nervously, tucking the end of the final strip of bandage away. "Please tell me you got rid of him." She brushed some shattered glass out of Peter's hair.

"Sort of," Tony said. "He pissed off pretty quick once you made your swan dive," he gestured to Peter. "He went off looking for Spider-Man. Hope he's okay. And why did you make a leap for it? That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen."

Gwen bristled slightly, but Peter replied. "I don't know, everything kind of went a bit blank. I guess I thought that there might be the slight chance I could save her, by cushioning her fall or something." He absently lifted his hand and rubbed his cut, which had stopped trickling persistently.

Tony winced as an awful image of Peter crunched against the pavement with Gwen's unconscious body sprawled over the top of him stubbornly planted itself in his brain. He shook his head to get rid of the unpleasant thought.

"Well, it's a good thing that Spider-guy did save you. I'd hate to be the one to tell your families that a super-assassin got you." He grabbed Peter's shoulders and hauled him up, Gwen glued to her boyfriend's side supportively.

"Ow," Peter muttered.

"Relax, Parker," Tony said. "We're going someplace very safe, where you can all the medical treatment your little ankle requires without rude interruptions from super-dicks."

"Naw, it'll be fine," Peter said. He moved his ankle around in a circle and there were popping sounds and two _cracks _that made Gwen squeak. He leant over and pulled the splint away, the makeshift bandages pulling away too.

"Peter! I just splinted that for you!"

"Ow. Eh, it's fine. The bones were just popped out of place. I've just gotta stay off it a while."

"You could have said that _before,_" Gwen muttered. She wrapped her arms around Peter's waist as his foot slipped and he stumbled. "Please tell me we're not going to the helicarrier, Mr. Stark."

"Yes, the helicarrier," Tony announced. He grabbed the two and squished them up against him, arm wrapped firmly around them. "Clench up and hold on."

* * *

**I told you I wasn't a total bitch. I can promise updates will _not _be that quick in succession.**


	10. 10

**Thanks so much for your patience, my dears! I have completed all my exams now, and I'll hopefully be getting the results in another few weeks. Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Pepper Potts stumbled away from the window, slightly white.

Well.

That certainly explained Peter's injuries.

It was almost unbelievable to think that Tony's own favourite employee/intern/whatever he was was none other than Spider-Man…

But of course it made perfect sense. Naturally, two superheroes would collect together. In fact, she had to deal with a tower full of hyperactive, destructive men and one woman who didn't seem to trust anybody.

Although the Avengers weren't even the subject of what she was thinking.

Honestly, now that her mind was not reeling with the horrific idea that an eighteen-year-old boy was dressing in Spandex to get shot at, the first though that dropped into her head was _I hope to God his girlfriend knew before._

In fact, it was ridiculous to think that she did not. Pepper chided herself for the stupid thinking; a girl as responsible and clever as Gwen Stacy would have recognized that the boy was Spider-Man without much difficulty or mental strain in the slightest.

Pepper allowed a small smile. Well, perhaps a little strain in contemplating the stupidity of someone dressing up in Spandex…

But a teenager dressing up and- Pepper was struck by the sudden, horrifying realization that Peter's injuries had been inflicted by Tony and Steve. Putting two and two together was hard sometimes. Not intellectually, and not particularly difficult, but it was easier not knowing the actual answer if it was painful.

Tony couldn't find out.

He couldn't.

The effect it would have on him would be dreadful. He had felt horribly guilty afterwards, and had gone out and gotten drunk multiple times. He hadn't admitted it to it, of course, but Pepper could recognize the scent of alcohol anyway, even without J.A.R.V.I.S. documenting Tony's movements to her.

Pepper dragged her fingernail the wood of her desk, ignoring the lacquer peeling off in a trail. The desk had tiny indents crisscrossing over it; whenever she was feeling anxious she did it almost automatically. There was no point to replacing the lacquer, it was just more money wasted, and it would all be scraped off relatively quickly.

She planted herself in her seat and sighed. There was also the issue of Peter being a child. He was eighteen years old (and pretended to be nineteen frequently, she understood, for no other reason that adolescent pride), and he was dragging himself out into the terrifying world of criminals and villains.

He was too young for all that, far too young.

Especially to be doing it alone.

She barely registered picking up the phone and pressing in a number, but when she looked at the phone before she hit _dial, _the S.H.I.E.L.D. number Phil (or Natasha?) have given her was shining in blue.

Pepper's thumb hovered over the key. She briefly wondered why on earth she hadn't just asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to call for her, but that hardly mattered.

Was it the right thing to do? Telling S.H.I.E.L.D. the identity of Spider-Man, that is. She knew they were trying to recruit him, and she knew, from evidence, that they were willing to get violent in the face of refusal.

There was a nasty taste in her mouth. If Phil was still alive, then there would be absolutely no way that he would not already know who Spider-Man was, and this whole issue would have been averted.

_Better S.H.I.E.L.D. know, and know how to protect_, she thought, and pressed the button.

It was immediately picked up.

"Who is this?" a voice asked, none too politely. She couldn't tell if it was male or female.

"Virginia Potts," she replied promptly. "I need to speak with Agent Romanoff."

* * *

To say that the ride to the helicarrier was unpleasant was correct… or at least it was expected to be. Tony expected the two teens to stumble away from him, glued together and green in the face, but they dealt with it remarkably well. Peter didn't seem fazed in the slightest, like he flew every day. Gwen just looked very pink in the cheeks and her hair was messier than before.

By all means, they both should have been gasping for breath because of the altitude, but Peter seemed fine and Gwen just seemed a little short of breath.

They did stumble away though, but only because Peter had a God-knows-what ankle ("Honestly, it doesn't even hurt,") and Gwen had lost feeling in her legs.

An agent ran up to accost the pair, but Tony waved him away with a 'this is outta your league'.

The agent looked at him reproachfully and stalked away, muttering, "I'm getting Director Fury," over his shoulder.

"Great!" Tony exclaimed. "Get Hill and the others too. This is something about Spider-Man!"

"Oh, you better hope it is," the agent said quietly. "The Director is not in a good mood, and the last thing he needs is an arrogant, self-absorbed..." she stopped herself, and then she sped away before he could argue.

Peter rolled his ankle around thoughtfully (with a few cracking sounds), and repositioned his grip on Gwen's hand.

"Fury? Do we really have to meet him?"

"Yes," a red-haired woman said plainly as she walked over and thrust a mound of paperwork into Tony Stark's armour-clad arms. Gwen Stacy stared with a confused look, like she was trying to place the woman's face. "Stark, you still have to file that report for the incident with Spider-Man. Rogers has managed to hand his in, and we don't want a redo of last time."

Tony swallowed. "No."

"Good. I am not your errand girl. I'm supposed to be out in the field."

Gwen snapped her fingers as she remembered who the red-haired agent was. "You're the Black Widow, aren't you?"

Romanoff looked down at the girl with a much warmer look than she had been staring at Tony. "Yes. I wouldn't recommend going around telling people though, S.H.I.E.L.D. security would find you in a second."

It wasn't exactly a threat, and even if it was, it was a much milder one than Tony had been subjected to.

"Oh, of course not," Gwen said, looking unsurprised and unaffected by the response. "Is there a medical bay we could head to? Peter's ankle needs looking at."

Tony tried not to feel slightly offended that Gwen was immediately looking up to the Widow as the One-In-Charge, as opposed to him. But then again, Romanoff had an air of authority that intimidated many.

Including him, of course.

"My ankle does not need looking at," Peter interjected defensively. The Black Widow and Gwen looked at him with not even remotely concealed expressions conveying a clear message:

_For God's sake, you need help. Stop whining._

Peter seemed to accept this, surprisingly enough. Apparently he was not as similar to Tony as he had thought.

"Okay," he said meekly.

* * *

An hour or two later, in the main conference room that still had a smear of something that looked suspiciously like blood on it (a frustrated looking agent was scrubbing away at it with a considerable lack of enthusiasm), the various teenagers and Avengers on board the helicarrier were collected up and dumped.

The total was made up of four people: the Black Widow, Tony Stark, Gwen Stacy and Peter Parker. The grand total, however, was not of four, Natasha had expressly stated that Director Fury _would _be coming, and that they had better shut up and wait for him to arrive.

Peter reclined in his seat, making his sloppy posture look even worse. His ankle had a fresh cast on it (he had accepted it only with complaining), and the cut on his forehead (which had healed enough to not warrant stitches) had a smiley face band-aid that only agents stupid enough to get paper cuts were forced to wear. Gwen sat up straight, looking impeccable despite the bruises around her throat, her messed up hair and slits in her clothes from shards of glass from the window.

_They're completely different, _Natasha thought to herself. In many more ways than just appearance.

The sample of Parker's blood would determine that.

Natasha had been surprised when one of the younger agents had sprinted up to her in a corridor (honestly, no one ever did that. Once someone has been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. for long enough, they understand that you do not simply run up to the Black Widow), and delivered a message, gasping, that not only was Stark coming aboard with two teenagers (a large pile of paperwork was planted in her arms at this) and that he had to complete all that paperwork _or else, _a Ms. Potts had called and requested to speak to her.

Fully expecting the usual pleasantries that she was subjected to when talking to Pepper (she actually did quite enjoy talking to Pepper. She treated her like a human being, not an assassin, even though she did recognize and respect the fact that Natasha could have taken out the entirety of the Roman Army), she was surprised (although she didn't show it), to hear that Pepper had a very, very important message.

And it was far more important than anything the White House or foreign secret services had ever given them.

The first part of the message was that under no circumstances, ever, at all ("I mean this, Natasha, I want a promise,") tell Steve or Tony or _someone _who will tell them this because it could affect them horribly.

The second part was that the teenage boy, Peter Parker, who Tony Stark was dragging to the helicarrier, was Spider-Man.

("I said don't tell them, but just make sure that poor boy doesn't get himself killed.")

Natasha narrowed her eyes fractionally and stared at the boy in front of her.

He didn't look like anything special. He was a skinny, lanky, gangly (and every definition of the word meaning 'thin'). Was he possibly a mutant?

_No, _she thought. He'd be in Professor Xavier's school if he was so. Certainly not strutting and swinging about Manhattan, punching criminals in the face and exasperating the police.

Regardless, the sample of his blood being analyzed at that moment would tell them everything they needed to know.

_I hope the Director arrives soon, _she thought. Director Fury was waiting for the results before he came, and she wasn't sure how much of Tony Stark's shit she could deal with.

Some meaningless blather was spilling from his mouth, and Natasha shut it out as best as she could, hoping that the Director would _please _come quickly.

* * *

**Thank you once more. I'm going to be heading off interstate soon, so I'll try to churn out another chapter before that, but no promises.**


	11. 11

**Hello again! Thank you for hanging around! (Apologies for the dreadful wordplay).**

* * *

When Director Fury entered the room, even though Peter could not see the man at all from his seat, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prick up obediently with his spider-powers.

Peter spun his chair around (oh, he loved spinny chairs), and:

"Romanoff. Stark. Parker and Stacy," the eye patched man said by way of greeting. His one eye gave an even more ferocious glare than Aunt May could when he left the milk out of the fridge for the day.

His gaze immediately settled on Peter.

_I have the feeling this is distinctly not good, _he told himself.

Not seeming to want to waste time with idle chit-chat and banter that could possibly have made Peter more comfortable with actually talking to this tall, menacing guy (his eyes zeroed in on where he was almost 1000% sure a gun was), the tall menacing guys said,"Parker, would you step outside? I need to speak with you."

"Um…" Peter gave a sideways glance at Gwen. "I'd prefer not. You're kinda intimidating."

"It wasn't a request," Fury insisted with a growl.

Peter's eyes widened. "Wow, okay. As long as you don't murder me or something. I have life insurance. Probably." He grabbed the crutches leaning against the conference table and hobbled to his feet.

Gwen tore through a sticky note slowly, her eyes never leaving Fury and Peter as they exited the room.

"If he touches Peter, I'll be the one killing people."

"I don't doubt it," Tony said casually, leaning over and yanking the sticky note pad from her hands. "Don't waste paper."

Peter turned around in time to see the door slide shut behind Fury. It was glass, and he could see the Avengers and Gwen watching them curiously. Gwen was shredding a single piece of paper while Stark stashed a note pad in his pocket.

"So… what did you want to talk about? Fandoms? Egg prices? Maybe the-" Peter was silenced as Fury came up right close, his angry, one-eyed glare thirty centimetres away. "_Whoa, _personal space, dude."

"That's an interesting cut on your head," Fury pointed out threateningly, ignoring his remark.

Peter crossed his eyes trying to look at said cut. He gave up after he realized he must look incredibly stupid. "Yeah. Crazy, right? Never expect a teenager to get a bit beaten up."

Fury took a step back. Phew. Personal space regained. "We had Spider-Man aboard this helicarrier after Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark brought him in."

"I think I missed the subject change."

"It doesn't matter. It just happens that Spider-Man had an identical cut on his forehead."

_SHIT._

Peter forced his face to remain in the same neutral expression. "Are you suggesting that I am a voodoo doll or something that replicates Spider-Man's injuries? Wow. I am special. I can put that on my resume. Naw, I got it when some debris fell when Iron Man and Cap were grabbing Spider-Man."

"I don't have time for shit," Director Fury rumbled. "Ms Potts phoned us after she saw you leap out of a building after your young friend Miss Stacy. We've also had your blood analyzed, which has been most helpful. Spider-Man, are you willing to report to S.H.I.E.L.D. after every crime you foil, or will you join the team the Avengers? Or refuse my offers?"

Peter blanched. Fuck. _Fuck. _He tried to deny it. "You think _I'm _Spider-Man? Me? You realize who you're talking to, right?"

"Peter Benjamin Parker, son of scientists Richard and Mary Parker. Richard Parker developed the Oscorp spiders. S.H.I.E.L.D. attempted to use them when you first turned up as Spider-Man in the hopes of imitating the powers, but found that they were not compatible with any DNA other than Richard Parker's. So we found you, and kept an eye on you." Peter wondered if that was meant to be a joke, but Fury's one eye was terrifying and he thought maybe it wasn't worth the risk to ask.

"But I can't be, I can't even defend myself from bullies…" Peter weakly supplied in a last-ditch attempt to preserve his identity. It was a pretty poor one at that. Biological evidence. Visual evidence. It wasn't looking good.

"I have an agent working undercover at Midtown Science High, she noted your sudden athletic ability that seemed to turn up overnight. S.H.I.E.L.D. sends agents into most schools to seek out young people with great intellectual and physical talent to join S.H.I.E.L.D. You made the list pretty quick, but I had my suspicions."

Peter lowered his head, stared at the ground, contemplating what would happen if this mysterious agent was suddenly webbed to the roof of the school for a few days. "How long have you known? Or suspected, at least."

"Suspected since your uncle was killed. I was 100% sure around four minutes ago when the results came in."

His eyes widened. "_Since Uncle Ben…?_" He gaped. "But that was _ages _ago! That means-" he stopped as a horrible realization overcame him. "That means you sent Stark and the Captain after me even though you knew- sorry, _suspected_ I am a _child."_

"You're eighteen, almost nineteen. Not a child anymore. A teenager, yeah, and a stupid one at that, but not a kid."

Peter's hand gripped his crutch more tightly, and he considered smashing it into Fury's blind side. But Fury was right, he was a teenager, and despite superpowers, the Director was a fully trained adult with a lifetime's experience of moody superheroes. And he didn't fancy his chances against a helicarrier of assassins and superheroes. "You-"

"Name-calling won't solve shit. Are you in or are you out, Parker? Keep in mind that if you say no, I'm gonna have to keep you on the helicarrier and away from people for their own safety. Your confidant, Miss Stacy, will also have to be detained," Fury threatened, casting a glance at Gwen, who was staring right at them. When she saw Peter's expression, the pencil in her hand snapped in two. Steve Rogers jumped in surprise. "Legal and security reasons. Nothing personal."

"Well, since you gave me so many choices." Peter glowered. "I just don't want anyone- and I mean _anyone- _To know who I am. Including the rest of the Avengers."

"Done. Ms Potts insisted on that as well."

Peter made a move for the door, but Fury grabbed his arm in a steely grip and looked him dead in the eyes. Or eye.

"Mr. Parker, I must warn you that if the Board of Directors decides you are a threat, not only will you be brought to the helicarrier, you will be neutralized, as will any confidantes and associates. I plan to keep it away from that, but if the board decides otherwise, I can't do anything without directly breaking orders." His tone, although practically the same, had somehow become more urgent. "Don't let them see you as a threat. I'm not talking about what's in your best interests now, Parker." He sighed, and suddenly seemed a lot milder. "I'm sorry that we set the Captain and Stark on you. Try to think of it this way: now that you've become a member of the team, Rogers and Stark will do anything in their power to defend you. Their consciences won't allow them to do less. Now follow me back to the conference room; we have to discuss the Green Goblin and I want to do that with the others."

Then Fury left, leaving Peter standing, lopsided, by himself, wondering how his life could possibly get any worse. That, and why any criminal would be stupid enough to get himself nicknamed 'The Green Goblin'. Arachnids were one thing. Mythical creatures of varying hues were another thing entirely.

* * *

**And updates will continue to be slow (winces), but in the meantime have fantastic holidays, and have a great start to 2015.**


	12. 12

**You guys are such heroes for waiting this out. The next probably won't be as long away, but I can't make promises because I am lame and busy. **

* * *

Gwen narrowed her eyes and shredded her only sticky note as she watched Peter and Director Fury argue in the next room over.

She found she was exceedingly glad that the wall there was made of glass. That way, she caught every single one of Peter's expressions; she could manage to mouth-read a few of his words and had full view of Fury, so if he did _anything _to Peter, she would know immediately.

And she would not be happy about it.

As Gwen ground the now-shredded paper into tiny balls of compacted anxiety and anger, she stared stonily through the glass at Peter.

He went pale at something the director said, and was obstinately not meeting anyone's eye.

Well, that obviously wasn't very good.

Gwen gauged Fury's expression.

Angry was an expression that looked quite natural for him; that and annoyed resignation. The vibe she was getting was somewhere between those two.

However, there was a tinge of psychotic in there, which didn't exactly do anything to make her feel more comfortable that her badly-injured boyfriend (admittedly gifted with superpowers) was stuck in a room with a much taller man who likely could deal with superheroes in his sleep with his smallest finger.

Oh, now he was flinching.

Fury made a hand gesture that Gwen didn't quite see.

Another flinch.

Blanching.

_Shit, _Gwen thought. What was it her older brother had said about threats? He was a budding lawyer, she was absolutely _positive _that he'd told her something about how illegal it was to threaten someone.

"That 'shit' was aloud," Tony Stark remarked casually, glancing up for a second from his phone. "Just if you wanted to know. Don't swear around the popsicle though, he might scrub out your mouth with soap."

"I'd never do that," Steve Rogers said immediately, banishing Stark back to the screen of his phone with a glare. "I grew up in Brooklyn. I'm used to it. I lived next to a family of Australian immigrants. I'm used to it, I tell you."

"Mm… no. Old man," Stark replied cheerfully.

Gwen tuned herself out as Captain Rogers opened his mouth for a retort, turning her attention back to Peter with faint smile on her mouth.

That smile disappeared painfully quickly.

Peter nodded thickly, and then Fury returned to them.

"Now that Parker's agreed to help us find Spider-Man," Fury began, Peter trailing in behind palely, "I can get to the point."

Gwen saw Peter frown, a fractional depression between his eyebrows. But thankfully, the others were focused on what Director Fury was saying.

"Stark, I'm not even going to begin talking about the security measures at the Stark Tower-"

"They're _state of the art,_" Stark said defensively. "_Nothing _should have been-"

"I'm not saying they weren't, Stark," Fury interjected. "I am aware that they are exceptional. Mostly because I have assurances from Ms. Potts and your AI J.A.R.V.I.S."

"Oh."

"But this- _goblin- _was still able to get crash through your building and throw an occupant out the _window. _ Do you understand why I am concerned?"

"Yes," Rogers put in. "If a building with such extensive security can be forcefully entered, what about buildings with far less security? Banks, and minor government outposts."

"Correct," Fury said. "Stacy and Parker, I'm sure you're wondering why you're still here."

Gwen exchanged a look with Peter. "About Spider-Man?" she suggested.

"No. I can see that you two will determinedly stay involved in this affair. Stacy, you are one of our only civilian witnesses, and I get the feeling you're too stubborn to back out anyway."

Gwen shrugged. "Probably true, sir. I also work as a biologist. The goblin seems to be genetically enhanced. Maybe if we get some DNA, an antidote can be manufactured, like with Dr. Connors."

"I hope so," Fury agreed. "But you two also have a _right to know _the dangers of fighting this creature."

Rogers looked uncomfortably at the two teenagers.

"This was not the first attack on a larger facility. There was one other, around a month ago in New Jersey. It was hushed up, we couldn't afford a panic. It was a hospital building, and although fortunately most of the patients and staff were evacuated, there was one casualty. A sixteen-year-old girl, Kamala Khan. Her body hasn't even been found."

Gwen felt slightly sick. She remembered flicking through a newspaper, bored, around that time ago, skipping over the obituaries. Was Kamala's name in there? She vowed to find the paper online, and read about the girl, if only for respect for the dead girl.

"The goblin, or whatever the hell he calls himself, does not care who is injured. He threw you out a window because you were in the way. He killed a teenager because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You _must _understand the seriousness of the situation."

"We do, sir," Peter said. "Well, I do. Gwen has to decide if she wants to stay for herself, I guess."

Gwen found herself nodding. "I'm staying involved. There can't be any more casualties. If there's even the slightest chance I can help stop him, I'll do it."

Fury looked impressed.

"I don't doubt your commitment," he said, looking doubtful, "but you're required to sign contracts and agreements pledging your silence on these matters to civilians, and breaking these contracts will result in your incarceration on any S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Do I make myself clear?"

Peter and Gwen nodded.

Stark, in the background, said disgustedly, "You didn't need is here for that!"

Fury's head whipped around to glare at Tony Stark. "_You're _here," he said, glowering at Stark and Rogers, who was looking very serious, "to be informed that one of your priorities is making sure that _no _harm comes to these two."

"I'll do my very best to see no harm come to them," Rogers swore immediately. "Spider-Man as well." He eyed Fury darkly. "I still don't understand why you had to _lie _and say he was a _threat."_

Gwen smiled faintly. Although she disliked his part in Peter's initial capture, he seemed to honestly regret that part he played. She wouldn't immediately forgive him, of course, but further exposure to the old captain would surely improve her perspective of him.

Peter looked a fair bit happier as well.

Well, it was proof, or evidence, at least, that another of his heroes regretted their actions. Stark had already made it clear in Peter's weeks of employment, and now that Rogers had…

"Rogers, that conversation was over weeks ago," Fury said wearily.

"And if you had been honest, that conversation would not have been needed," Rogers replied stiffly.

"Excuse me," Gwen interjected, stopping the two soldiers mid-argument, "but is that all? Our families will be worried, and we'd like to go back home."

The two seemed to forcibly calm themselves, and Peter and Gwen were dismissed.

* * *

"_I'm _dropping _you _off," Gwen insisted as they walked together- or rather, she walked slowly and he tried to limp quickly. "You're injured, and I've called my mom. _Your _phone, if you remember, is splintered on the floor of Stark's lab. You think my apartment's walking distance from here?"

Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn't actually disagree. He made a valiant attempt though, which Gwen shut down as quick as possible.

Which wasn't as quickly as she'd hoped, by the time they'd finished bickering they were outside his house in Queens.

"I can just drop in, and then you walk you to-"

"Walk me where? I'm getting a taxi, Peter, shut up."

With that she pulled him to the door, kissed him, and walked away.

"I'll see you, bug-boy," she called behind her, "go stew on the sofa and watch Star Wars or something."

She listened as his front door was wrenched open, and the soft _oof _as Aunt May tackled him in a hug.

* * *

Once at home, after wading through frantic mothers and little brothers, Gwen barricaded herself into the safety of her room, sighed deeply, and flipped open her laptop.

"'Kamala Khan'," she repeated to herself softly as the loading bar trickled full almost painfully slowly. "'Kamala.'"

The loading bar was only half-full, and Gwen cursed laptops and how notoriously dodgy they were, and instead grabbed her phone as it _binged _with a message.

_Hi_

Wonderfully articulate, Peter, she thought with a smile.

_I told u to sit on the couch like a good little sick boy and watch star wars_

She replied quickly, chancing another look at her laptop. The bar edged fractionally closer to 100%. Sigh.

**_Bing. _**

_i am_

She sent back,

_which one? what happened?_

She could almost feel him coming up with a sly reply.

**_Bing._**

_U know if anakin hadnt fucked up theyd have all been happy_

Another **_bing._**

_padme's dead now_

**_Bing._**

_u like watching ewan mcgregor cry right u bawled thru the impossible_

**_Bing._**

_oh look luke and leia are separated now and obiwans in exile this is great _

Gwen stared at her phone, enraged, as Peter documented the rest of the tragic ending of her favourite movie ever, and quickly sent back:

_HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME READ THIS WITH MY OWN TWO EYES YOU MONSTER_

_I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU GOODBYE MISTER_

Then she added,

_I know for a fact u cry when aslan dies in narnia shut up_

She imagined Peter cackling on his couch, then putting on the old BBC Narnia and crying, and she switched her phone off and focused on her newly loaded home screen.

It was almost painfully easy to Google 'kamala khan', as if the poor girl was just some word rather that a living, breathing person who'd been alive just over a month ago.

The results were meagre, nothing really about her death, just a simple obituary stating her death, and a small Islamic prayer.

What she did find, was that Kamala had been an _avid _fan of the Avengers. She'd been the admin or co-admin of several fansites, she'd written fanfiction, and her twitter was just _filled _with adoration for superheroes.

_Poor girl._

Her heroes hadn't saved her.

Gwen laid back on her bed, and felt awful.

* * *

**Seriously you guys are so great and patient I love y'all.**


	13. 13

**More a filler chapter than anything else, which is why it's short**

* * *

Spider-Man was back in business.

Peter had just spent a _very _relaxing afternoon taking out a few bank robbers and a would-be murderer, and now he was sitting at the top of his favourite place in the city: the clock tower a few blocks from the power grid, watching the sun slam-dunk its way past the horizon.

Peter pried the lower half of the mask away from his face, stuffed in the entire sandwich some kid had handed to him when his stomach grumbled after he pulled the kid out the way of a car. Then he let the mask tighten around his face again, and chewed slowly, trying to work out if he should regret pushing an entire sandwich into his mouth. He was Spider-Man, not Snake-Man, and dislocating his jaw probably wasn't the best idea.

It was a good sandwich though.

Peter rotated his dodgy ankle a few times, content when the only pain that came from the movement was a dull, mild ache. He flexed his shoulders, and when no pain came from that, ever after his workout of catching crooks, he smiled lazily under the mask and lay back in front of the clock face.

Life was good. He knew the Avengers currently on the planet were looking out for him, and quite honestly, that was more satisfying than just having his ankle heal up.

He was an _Avenger._

Life was _really _good.

* * *

The next two weeks of Steve Rogers' life after that helicarrier meeting went past in a blur of worry and fear.

Not for himself, certainly. The incident with HYDRA's helicarrier had certainly made sure of that. The prospect of his own death, injury, dismemberment or otherwise painful and humiliating demise did not scare him in the slightest. His life had already ended once before, and it had been unlikely that any such situation would arise again.

But… it wasn't unlikely anymore. The world had moved on, sped away like Bucky when that shard of metal snapped in the cold-

Anyway.

Stark had been blindingly close to dying in the battle against the Chitauri, Loki's alien forces. Barton had had his mind pulled from his body and crushed, something else forced back in until Romanoff beat it out of him again. And then there was Spider-Man, with his injuries being the product of Fury's deception and Steve's own determination to get a criminal off the streets. But he wasn't, was he? A criminal, that is. He'd been doing the same job, with fewer resources and just as much success.

(What would Peggy and Bucky think?)

After the incident, he'd visited Peggy in her aged-care facility, and told her everything that had happened, over and over again with every visit, her weeping in recognition marking the beginning and end

And now, there was Peter and Gwen. Two lovely young kids, who were now involved with a monster crashing around the city, destroying buildings for the single purpose of finding Spider-Man. A girl had already died, not much younger than they were.

Steve massaged his temples with his fingers, and scrunched his eyes up.

He couldn't deal with another Bucky. Some other person, whether it was Stark or Barton or Peter or Gwen, dying for the same, stupid purpose and succeeding in hardly anything but leaving the world.

He couldn't let them happen to _any _of his team. Especially not the two kids.

They deserved that, at least.

* * *

School groups.

Truly, of all monotonous duties she had to perform, supervising and touring school students was by far the worst.

Even though the students themselves were generally well-behaved, the teacher and parent chaperones were, more often than not, irritating and patronising to a point where she was more than just tempted to punch them in the face and yell that she had gotten a scholarship to Oxford, helped save New York, and _do not underestimate me._

Gwen's eyes drifted over a roll, students' names blurring together. _Jason Able. Nakia Bahadir. Akio Shirai. Zoe Zimmer._

Oh please god, let this day end quickly. She flipped over the paper, baring the blank slate of the clipboard. She pretended to study it while the students, who had forgotten her as soon as she had brought them to a particular display, gawked at the measly little display or otherwise talked with one other.

"Morning!" a voice squawked right beside her ear. Gwen nearly dropped the clipboard, and straightened up to find herself face to face with Jackie Bright, a young female colleague who had achieved notoriety for being possibly the most intelligent and/or irritating person on the entire property. "How was yesterday? I heard that Stark tower, y'know, where your boyfriend works, got attacked! That would have been _sooo _scary!"

Her long, pink fingernails drummed the edge of a lab bench. Those fingers that appeared to be useless for everything, but could splice separate strands of DNA together better than anyone in the northern hemisphere. Jack had worked at Oscorp for nearly six years now, first recruited when she had escaped high school. If there was anyone Gwen looked up to, it was Jack. Unfortunately, she had the habit of either coming across as a mad scientist, or a mad bimbo, but despite that, she loved using her appearance and manner to make people underestimate her. She was woman who looked good, and had an even better brain.

"Good morning, Jack. It really was," Gwen said absently, wishing that she would just get back to work so that she could finish leading the high-school kids around the place. Speaking of the kids, their attentions had wavered and were now focused directly upon Jack and Gwen's exchange. They'd first begun to turn when Stark tower had been mentioned, and now their stares were coming full-force. Gwen, however, refused to waver under those stares. She'd not gotten valedictorian, and her position at Oscorp through meekness. "Terrifying. In fact, it was so scary I can't bring myself to talk about it."

A few of the school students waiting snickered. Gwen eyed them, and then directed her gaze back to her blank clipboard.

"Sure, Gwen," Jack replied chattily, "it must have been! I mean, I heard you were _in _the building, I'd've just _died, _anyway, I have to take apart a few stem cells, talk to you later!" and she flounced off to presumably yank apart said cells.

The school group's singular gaze watched Jack leave, and then came to fix upon Gwen in awe. The teacher chaperone tilted her glasses down and surveyed Gwen appraisingly. One girl, at the back, was watching her stiffly. Gwen recognised her, but just couldn't remember where from.

"If any of you say anything about that stupid Stark tower," Gwen said, "I _will _have you kicked out of the building. I'll have you know Stark is one of our biggest business competitors. No talk about the _enemy._"

A few laughs echoed around.

"Lemme guess, no one's talked to you about anything else?" a student offered.

"You bet," Gwen replied, and then gestured towards a pair of glass doors, leading to the inner sanctums. "Anyway, if you'll come this way, you'll be able to see the latest experiment; an investigation of the effects eagle DNA has when spliced with a different species, falcons… which, I might add, is an area of experimentation Stark Industries has _not _covered."

Students filtered away through the glass doors, chatting amiably to one another, not particularly interested but not dead-set bored either, their brief interest in Gwen already waxed and waned back to just over zero. A hijabi girl paused behind the group, watching Gwen.

"You should feel very lucky," the girl said coolly. "Not everyone is."

As the girl hurried through, her face making an odd, twitchy movement, Gwen tried desperately to remember where she knew her from.


	14. 14

"Gwen? Are you okay?"

With a start, Gwen suddenly remembered that she, in fact, at dinner with Peter, in a quite nice restaurant, and that she had just disappeared into the depths of her brain for an unspecified amount of time. She shook her head, as if to shake away her mind trying to draw her back in.

"Hm? Sorry. Zoned out."

Peter made for a smile, but it went a little too close to a grimace. "I could tell. Thinking about Kamala Khan?"

Gwen blinked a few times, and poked her fork, which had been patiently waiting in her hand, mushroom stabbed on the tines, into her mouth. Blech. It was stone cold. How long had she been daydreaming? Twenty minutes? Longer?

"I can tell," Peter said, shrugging when she didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the window, where it would have been black as pitch, if not for the streetlights. "And I saw her friend leaving Oscorp with that school-group when I was waiting for you, and I just figured…" he trailed off. Gwen noticed that his plate was still full, and he was fidgeting. Apparently neither of them were particularly hungry. But that was fine. Whenever they were anywhere near each other, however much fun they were having, what Fury said about the 16 year old who was killed by the Goblin made them- _subdued._

Wait one second. What had Peter just said? Kamala's friend? At Oscorp? Gwen rifled through her memories at work, and one came up with that school-group that Jack interrupted to loudly broadcast exactly what had happened to Gwen. The girl in the hijab, at the back of the group, the one who was trying her very best not to cry as she left the room. "That was her friend?"

Peter shifted. "Yeah. Bahadir, I think. I remembered her from the-" he made a vague gesture. "Thing. Newspaper. Obituary?"

"Yeah," Gwen sighed, putting her fork down. She remembered that, now that Peter had mentioned it. That blog photo had had the same girl beside Kamala, except she was grinning widely, and Kamala even more so. "I remember now. It was-"

Something distantly rumbled, and Peter's head jerked towards the window so fast she was scared he might have broken it for a second. His eyes flashed, and he seemed to be concentrating on something that had not yet happened.

"Do I need to get under the table?" she asked. "Is it close?" No one else in the restaurant had moved, chatting quietly at private tables.

Peter shook his head, the furrow between his brows growing deeper with every passing second. He bit his lip, "No, nothing's happened ye-"

Coming out from the cold and dark of the night, there was a chorus of screams, and behind that, the distant sound of sirens.

A waitress, who was on the other side of the restaurant serving someone, dropped the plate she was holding and dashed to the window.

"Oh my god," she whispered, pressing her face to the glass, fingers splayed across the cold glass. "Is that-? There's a fire. Oh _shit."_

"Where?" Peter demanded, leaping to his feet and lunging to the window. The waitress pointed a shaky hand towards the left.

"Behind that block. You can see the flames, even from here…"

Gwen found herself on her feet, wrenching her handbag open for her phone, and Peter's hand appeared on her wrist. She looked up into his eyes, and knew exactly what he was going to do.

"You stay _safe_," she hissed, and thrust his backpack, spider costume inside, into his arms. "Don't you _dare _get yourself killed."

"It's just a fire," he whispered. "It's not as though-"

"You know very fucking well it's not just a fire," Gwen insisted. "You get those people out if you can, but don't you fucking _dare _take on the Goblin." She shoved him in the shoulder. "I'll call for your friends. Now _go._"

Peter gave up trying to rationalise why he was going, and sprinted for the door. Gwen watched him go, a crease lining that space between her eyebrows, before she turned back to her search for her phone.

"You had better answer," she muttered when she found it, scrolling through her contacts aggressively. "You had better…"

An explosion rocked the restaurant, the glass quivering dangerously in the window, and many of the patrons dropping their glasses and knives and forks to cram their faces into the window. Gwen felt her phone vibrate softly in her palm as it dialled, and then a quiet voice emanate from it.

"Miss Potts," she said in relief. "You need to send your gang into Queens, _now._"

Natasha threw down her phone the second Pepper delivered her message from Miss Stacy, and sprinted for the hangar. Her footsteps echoed louder on the metal floor than she would have liked, but quieter than anyone else on the entire helicarrier.

"Stark," she snarled as she saw him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him along as she ran. "Find the others, and tell them to get to Queens."

"Where? Why? Queens is a bit bigger than a single apartment block Natash-"

"You'll see where exactly," she insisted, "and the Goblin is picking another fight. Spider-Man's going in alone, and Stacy and Parker are in the area."

Stark's eyes widened. He didn't need any more information than that, and took off to find Banner or Rogers or _anyone._

Nat skidded to a halt in the hangar, and raised her communicator to her mouth. "Clint. Get to the hangar. We're going to Queens, and to hopefully catch the Goblin."

"Gotcha," Clint said after a few moments, presumably reading it from his communicator instead of listening, his hearing-aids sometimes went on the fritz near all the tech. Natasha dashed up the ramp of one of the craft, right into the control room. "I'll see you in forty seconds."

"Sure," she said, her hands dancing over the controls. The engine began whining as she prepped it, and even from within the metallic chill of the craft, even without any special powers or abilities, just her own body- she could tell that something, something _bad _was about to happen.

Peter was so thankful for the mask, not just for concealing his identity, but for other purposes he hadn't even realised he'd need it for

As the flames grew higher around him, swirling yellow and orange, towering towards the steadily charring ceiling, and as the young woman clutching onto his arm whimpered and held on even tighter, coughing into her free hand, Peter realised that this, this _here _right _now _was the reason that he risked his life in the streets.

What would it be like to be so afraid? A world without heroes, no one to save you when things seemed hopeless, no one to look up to when you felt alone, and no one to fight against those who destroyed the oppressed and cast evil like a net around the world for no other reason than for sick enjoyment.

The Goblin had set fire to an _apartment _block. An apartment block full of people and families and children, just little children…

The woman coughed harshly, hacking and choked up with smoke. Peter felt smoke trickle through the minuscule holes in his mask, streaming into his lungs. Well. Apparently the mask _wasn't _as good as keeping out the smoke as he'd hoped. He fumbled blindly through the smoke and flames, until he saw the outline of the door, leading out into the night and safety.

"Get out there, it's safe," he rasped, and the woman nodded, eyes streaming with smoky tears. He didn't wait to see her disappear out the door, and he ran back into the center of the inferno. There was one more person in there, he could hear them yelling for help.

"Oh _Jesus,_" the voice choked out. How far were they away? On the next floor? Peter stretched out his senses and concentrated as hard as he could on his hearing. "Oh Christ _please, _is there someone there? Help me, oh _Jesus."_

The stairs were on fire. Peter clambered up to the next level on the wall, trying to ignore the burning in his palms and knees and feet. He'd regret it tomorrow, and for the next few weeks as they healed up. And the whole 'beaten up by the Avengers' thing was still all so recent…

The man gave a rasping sob, and Peter finally got to the level. The man, red haired but greying, was on his hands and knees, coughing into the carpet. That room wasn't yet aflame, but the smoke was getting to the man.

"Hey!" Peter yelled over the crackling of flames, and the rumble of something above collapsing. "You're gonna be just fine! Ya here?"

The man looked up at him, eyes streaming, and Peter's stomach dropped right of his body.

Spider-Man coughed from under the mask, and Norman Osborn rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Oh thank _God," _he said, putting a whimper into his voice just for effect. "Spider-Man… oh thank you thank you thank you-"

"Norman _Osborn?_" Spider-Man asked, stunned. He grabbed Norman by the arm and hoisted him up straight. "What are you- No, it doesn't matter. You're gonna be fine, alright?"

"I know," he replied, hacking away into his hand. Oh goodness, this boy was a _fool._ "I'll be fine."

"Yeah, I'll get you out. Now do you-"

Osborn rolled his shoulder back, pulling his arm out of Spider-Man's grip. "I think you'll find it won't be working that way, Spider-Man." He imagined that beneath the absurd costume, he was blinking stupidly.

"Whaddya mean?" Spider-Man grabbed him by the shoulder again, and began pulling him over to the window. "Look, we're gonna have to jump, but-"

Perhaps it was the fire that was clouding Spider-Man's enhanced senses, maybe it was just that Spider-Man trusted Osborn. But it seemed, as Spider-Man crashed to the floor, already unconscious and with blue electricity crackling around the taser Norman shoved into his side, that he hadn't even reacted.

"Little fool," Osborn said softly, drawing his own mask out from beneath the desk beside him. "You stumbled right in, and couldn't even contemplate that it was _me._"


	15. 15

**Well look at this- I might be onto an actual decent update schedule. Not.**

**I just had a really shitty day, and I hoped that knowing some people would be looking forward to the net chapter (and actually getting it!) would make me feel a bit better.**

* * *

Clint and Natasha watched as the last few crumbling, charred walls split and turned into black dust and ash. Fire-fighters clambered over the ground floor, looking for survivors, and shaking their heads when they left.

But what did that mean, shaking their heads? That there were no bodies? That there _were _bodies? That there were some things that could possibly have resembled a body once upon a time, one hour ago when the fire had started…

Clint fingered one his arrows aimlessly as he focussed everything on the burnt corpse of the building. Was Spider-Man in there? Did Spider-Man get out? Was that stupid kid in the suit dead?

He knew exactly what answers he didn't want to hear, and those were the ones he would probably be given.

And where were Parker and Stacy? They had been near the building. And Parker attracted trouble and injuries like flies zeroed in on the dumpsters Clint so frequently occupied…

"Do we know where Stacy and Parker are?" he signed to Natasha, dropping his arrow.

She made a movement, like she was sighing. "Stacy's out the front. There," she signed, and then pointed far below, where a blonde girl in a long coat was pacing back and forth amongst those who had gotten out of the building. "Parker… well, Parker ran into the building to help people."

Clint felt his jaw drop open, his chin falling somewhere down around his knees, or maybe even his ankles. "He ran _in?_ He _knows _what was happening, he _knows _exactly who we're dealing with, and he just-" Clint threw up his hands disgustedly. He turned away from Natasha, focussing on the crowd, trying to pick out Parker from it. Stupid kid. Clint almost hoped he had a few burns as souvenirs of his stupidity and recklessness. Barely healed from Tony and Steve's ultra-bad-mean attack on Spider-Man, and- oh god, _Spider-Man _as well? Idiots, both of them, stupid little skinny scrawny idiots.

"I can't see him," he said aloud, squinting at them. "God, I hope he's gone back to his aunt's already, or-" he looked back up at Natasha, to find her staring at him. "What?"

"Clint, he went _in the building. _He's not down there, and Spider-Man's not down there, because he _didn't get out._"

A shiver went up his spine, and Clint couldn't stop himself from flinching. "Who didn't get out?" he asked, so quietly he couldn't even hear himself. "Parker or Spider-Man."

Natasha looked resigned. "Both, Clint. Parker is Spider-Man. Or was." She looked away from him.

"How do you know?"

She sighed. "We had a tracker on his cell. Not to abuse his privacy, just if there was something dangerous going on, we'd know where he was. It's-" she pulled out one of Stark's awful impossible-to-navigate devices- "not functioning." The screen had faintly glowing red letters spelled across. _Error. Disconnected._

"It'd only be able to be overrun like that if it were burned in a fire, or through a powerful electric shock, maybe," Natasha explained, looking back down at the scene. "And I think we know which."

"Oh god," Clint breathed. "What- What are we gonna tell Stacy? And Parker's aunt?"

Natasha glared stonily at the ruined building. "Tell her to go home, and await any advancements. We don't 100% know that he's dead."

Clint breathed heavily through his nose. "She's not gonna like that.

* * *

Gwen did not like it. Clint ended up taking her home, and she demanded information and complained the entire way there. "I was there, as well as Peter! And you're allowing him to stay and help clean-up, even though he's still injured from Rogers and Stark's little tiff?"

"Parker works for Stark. Stark'll understand if he doesn't turn up tomorrow. Definitely, he's there. You're an Oscorp-er."

"Heard of sick days?" Gwen rebutted icily.

He felt guilty lying to her. Especially when it was about Peter. But- no. There wasn't a good excuse. It was a lie, and she would know it was a lie when they came to her with what happened, and she would never forgive them for that.

He still didn't say anything, and dropped her off home.

* * *

"Stark!"

Tony barely heard the sound of Steve's voice, and continued pulling up the rubble , searching underneath for signs of Peter or Spider-Man or both or just _either _of them, _please, _not both of them dead at once, he didn't think he could take-

"Tony!" Steve gripped him by the bicep.

"_What_," he snarled. "Don't make me stop! Parker or Spider-kid are still in here, we gotta get him out of else they'll-" he faltered, seeing something in Steve's other hand.

"It's too late," Steve said softly, and held up the charcoaled, bloodied fabric from Spider-Man's suit.

Tony blinked a few time, and turned back to what he was doing. "We can find Peter, at least. No one's seen a body, right? No body, no death, as far as I'm concerned. And anyway, that fabric means-"

"Tony," Steve continued. "Nat just-" he inhaled sharply and looked away, biting at the inside of his cheek.

"Ginger snap said _what_?" Tony growled. "What, Steve?"

Steve exhaled that tight breath and stiffened. "Peter was Spider-Man. Nat had a tracker on him, and that went offline pretty soon after he got on the scene."

Tony's vision started going red. "Oh, what, so you just fucking _knew _Peter was Spider-Man? And just decided not to tell me? Jesus, Steve, he was a fucking _kid, _why in the _fuck _wouldn't you tell me something like that?! And allow him on the streets? In a costume? And-" Tony trailed off. "He's not dead, he isn't-"

Steve was determinedly staring at something else in an effort not to cry. "The- the evidence all points towards it," he said unsteadily. "I don't- I don't think that there's anything we can do."

* * *

Clint Barton knocked quietly on Gwen's front door, which was immediately opened by a woman who looked very much like the younger Stacy. Damn. He had been praying (he wasn't even religious) that nobody was home, so his message would not have to be delivered.

"Hello! How may I help you?" she beamed, wiping flour from her hands onto a bloody apron. "Sorry, I'm just making dinner."

"Officer Barton, ma'am. Is this the residence of Miss Gwen Stacy? May I talk to her if so?" He wasn't expecting someone other than Gwen to open the door, but the lie slipped easily off his tongue.

Mrs. Stacy's grin faded as she dabbed the last bits of flour off her hands. "She's not in any trouble, is she? She's a good girl!"

"Your daughter is not in any trouble with the law," Clint reassured. "But this information concerns her."

Gwen's mother gave him a curious look, and then turned to call her daughter. "Gwen, sweetheart! There's a police officer at the door who needs to talk to you!" She took a step back. "Please, come in. I'm glad to hear she's not in any trouble!" Mrs. Stacy returned to the kitchen, leaving Clint alone in the room. It was nice room, actually. Lots of family photos in frames, hanging on the walls and sitting upright on cabinets.

_Maybe you won't be glad of the news when she tells you, _Clint thought.

Gwen came to the entrance room very quickly, pushing her brother in the face to make him exit the room. She quickly shut the door, and folded her arms to stare petulantly at him. "Clint! Have you sent Peter home?"

Clint decided to just get to the point. "Gwen, we know Peter was Spider-Man."

"Oh." She paled a little, but quickly returned to her normal complexion. "I guess you guys were always going to find out. Yeah, he is, and-" Gwen suddenly stopped dead.

She looked up at him, a line growing between her eyebrows, trying to sift through the subtext.

_Was Spider-Man._

_Was._

Clint felt a shiver run up his spine as he witnessed her realizing what he had said.

"Was?"

He stayed silent.

"You said 'was.'" She was paling, all the blood draining from her face. Her lips too, everything going stark white and cold.

Clint didn't say anything.

"You'd better hope for you and the Avengers' sakes that that was just an slip of the tongue," Gwen hissed. Her hands were trembling.

Clint shook his head slowly. "It's- It wasn't. I'm sorry."

God, words were so useless.

She stiffened, and Clint thought she was going to yell at him. But the voice that came out wasn't loud. "Please…" she said softly, pleading. "Tell me that he's not…" Her eyes were wide and her voice cracked.

"I am so sorry."

She didn't start crying. Clint could see the tears welling up, her face contorting, but she refused to let them fall. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and she stood frozen, until she shook herself back into reality.

"You _lied _to me." Her voice was like a spike of ice. "You sent me home, pretending everything was fine and good and just fucking dandy."

"I'm sorry," Clint tried to say again, but she held up a hand with such authority, like Natasha or Fury, that he was silenced.

"Could you please leave?" Gwen's voice was steady, and slightly lower than it normally was.

"Yes. I understand. I'm sorry."

He left without saying goodbye. The he turned off his hearing aid.

He heard the crash anyway.

* * *

Clint was gone for maybe ten seconds when Gwen finally let the tornado of her emotions blow free.

She swiped at a vase, sending it toppling to the floor and splintering into a thousand pieces, and screamed as loudly as she could.

It took less than a second for her mother and Howard to run in.

"Gwenny, what's the matter!" her mother said, immediately collapsing to the ground next to her and trying to put an arm around her shoulder. It didn't sound like a question.

"_FUCK!" _she screamed. "**_FUCK!_**"

The expletives cracked into broken sobbing and she really couldn't, she really couldn't tell anyone, she's not emotionally and physically capable of doing so, now that her whole family was there, Howard and Phillip and Simon, all crowding around her and whispering, "Gwen, what's wrong?" "You can tell us, Gwen." She tried to calm down her crying, but then she just started hyperventilating, on her hands and knees, snot and tears and saliva dripping from her face.

_Peter. Peter, who was going to move to England with her. And, unsaid, were going to live the rest of their lives together. _Not officially, not yet, they knew they were too young, and goodness knows all those variables that could change anything, but in the years to come…

It took her hours to stop crying. She could barely remember anything, but she found herself wrapped in a blanket on the couch, hot tea in her hands; burning her fingers but she didn't care. Her mother made her lean on her shoulder, one hand stroking Gwen's head. Gwen's brothers quietly sat there with them.

They still didn't know what happened.

Gwen was now in a state far from calm, but better than before, when Clint first delivered the news.

She thought she was okay, but then the realization hit her, _again, _like a punch in the chest.

She broke down, again.


	16. 16

**Shorter chapter.**

* * *

Gwen lay awake all night. She didn't sleep, she didn't even think. There was nothing to think, nothing for a distraction. She blankly stared at the wall, ignoring the shadows of clouds drifting across. She ignored the stars, those hateful lights. They knew this would happen. That's why they glowed so bright. God, that was so Shakespearean and such _bullshit._

At around 4am, her door creaked open and little Simon crept in, clutching another blanket in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. She didn't notice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she said aloud. "_Peter."_

Gwen felt more tears threatening to fall from her already dry eyes, and then she decided that she would not let them. She had cried her fill, and she would not until the funeral. Assuming there was a funeral.

Assuming a body had been found.

_Shut the fuck up._

"Gwen?" Simon asked, quietly and timidly. "Are you okay?"

She was surprised to hear him, but she made no motion.

"Not really, Simon," she whispered. She marvelled at how calm her voice was. "Probably not for a long time."

"Oh."

Simon stood there in the doorway for some time, until Gwen whispered, "C'mere, you. I need a hug."

He crawled into bed with her and planted the teddy bear between them, hugging both Gwen and Mr. Bear as tightly as his little arms could. She hugged him back, resting her face in his hair, and was uncomfortably encountered by a memory of burying her face in Peter's hair.

She pulled back.

"Peter's dumb," Simon announced seriously.

Gwen's mouth opened slightly. How could he say that? Why would he say that? How could- oh.

He didn't know.

Of course he didn't.

Nobody knew. She hadn't exactly told any of them. She'd just sat on the couch and cried and then gone to bed without any words.

"I thought you and Peter were going to get married, but he's stupid for breaking up with you." He paused. "Phillip's taller, he can hit him for you," he added as an afterthought.

Gwen, bizarrely, felt like laughing.

"He didn't break up with me, Simon," she said, pulling Mr. Bear up to her face, squeezing her eyes shut and then, only then, did she realize how _tired _she was. "The police don't come to tell people that their boyfriends or girlfriends dumped them."

"What?" Simon said, aghast, his voice rising louder than a whisper. "But I thought-?"

Gwen wanted to start laughing again. Oh, Simon. Did he really think that was what Dad did before he died?

"That was the only reason I wanted to become a police officer," he said, disappointed. Gwen can't hold back the snort this time, but it's only short-lived. She settled back into silence.

"So he didn't dump you?"

"Peter didn't break up with me," she repeated.

"Then why-?"

Would saying it, saying it actually out loud, confirming it verbally, would it make it true?

"He died."

Saying it wasn't going to change anything.

* * *

The sun rose irritatingly bright the next morning. The rays swept into the bedroom, heating the room to an unpleasant temperature, and the single occupant groaned, and considered pulling the pillow up over his head.

He didn't. Instead he pulled himself reluctantly out of bed and headed over to the shower, not even stopping to appreciate the beautiful view from his bedroom window. Sunlight sparkling over the ocean, glinting even in the distance, and surprisingly little pollution to be seen that morning. Far to the left, there was smoke rising slowly, from what must have been a large building fire the night before.

He didn't see it. He spent the time he could have spent watching the view tripping his way to the bathroom, washing his hair, and putting on expensive clothes he didn't particularly like.

At 8:00am, he stepped outside into the cold air, even as the sun smiled merrily down. He wasn't happy, and everyone who met him knew that.

Sure, he had wealth, but _everyone _knew that a terrible father-son relationship made it difficult to smile. Especially when that terrible relationship was severed by a premature death, without either parties ever coming to terms, forgiving the others' sins, etc. The chauffeur nodded as he opened the car door, not bothering with a greeting.

He was all right with that. Everyone treated him either as a wealthy possible benefactor, and spent their time with him being slimy and manipulative, or they acted like he was a stupid little kid. His own company was excellent at that.

At 8:30am, his car pulled up outside the private entrance of one of the most prominent and well-respected companies in the city. As he left the vehicle, a bodyguard strode forward with intent, but he dismissed him politely and made his way into the building.

Pristine and sparkling. Just as he expected, just as he saw everyday.

This morning, his private elevator was nonfunctional, and the stares from his employees as he walked to the public ones irked him. They shouldn't have, it was his own company and what was it to feel _embarrassed _by the people he had employed? Stupid and childish. He imagined his father looking down at him, a curled lip and brows pulled together. He tried to shake the feeling away, as if the old man was still watching him. But the stares of his workers… as potent as they were, they were _nothing _compared to his father's intimidating glare; that awful, absent look he'd saved only for his son; simple ignoring of him.

He passed a red-eyed blonde girl staring resolutely at one of the screens, ignoring almost as intensely as his father always had, but he could recognize that vague expression of being a thousand miles away. _Cheating, _he thought absurdly. But it was nice to know that she wasn't ignoring him because he was _him, _and she wasn't staring either.

He hid in the elevator, relieved that the stares were far away from him now. There was something peaceful about the lift, glass and silent and empty. He closed his eyes and absently pulled at the flap of hair that covered his forehead.

The elevator _binged, _and he stepped out into his office. Spacious, clean, and yet still filled with worthless tech crap he hadn't the energy to dispose of. He sank down into his seat at his desk, eyeing the newspaper folded neatly there.

Honestly, the company acted as though technology was the only way to go, and then dumped newspapers on his desk. Anything he could read in that, he could read online. It was hypocrisy at its finest.

The headline caught his eye, something about Spider-Man and an apartment fire, and he perused the article quickly.

Weird fire that broke out. Spider-Man saved the day, as usual. One casualty, a kid his own age called P-

"Oh," said Harry Osborn.

When his secretary found him an hour later, armed with a coffee and a doughnut, she found him staring blankly out over the skyline, where there was still smoke dissipating from a disaster.


	17. 17

**Nice. An update. Nice.**

* * *

"I _still,_" Tony hissed with a kind of ferocity that made even Nick Fury blink in surprise, "maintain that we should have _found the body._"

The Avengers plus one Pepper Potts were spread out in the largest meeting room on the helicarrier, pointedly avoiding each others' gazes except, perhaps, for Tony, who was glaring openly at everyone and anyone who dared raise their gaze, and Natasha, who was meeting that ferocious stare calmly, despite that twitch in her eye that informed the room she was _anything _but calm.

"Tony," Clint said delicately, his hearing aid switched off to avoid having to deal with any yelling, and squinting to read people's lips, "the transmitter stopped doing its thing. It stopped transmitting." It wasn't as though Clint was glad or anything else about the whole situation. A kid – well, a _very _young adult was _dead. _He'd had to deliver the message to Gwen Stacy and – oh _God, _May Parker herself.

He hadn't wanted to be the one to tell her that Peter was Spider-Man, and _dead. _But it was between him and Nat; they couldn't send one of the more noticeable Avengers. Captain America or Iron Man walking into Queens would have aroused suspicions, and May Parker would not have been happy to be told by the men who had preciously nearly killed her nephew that he actually _was _dead. And it wasn't fair on her to have the whole world find out that her adopted son was a superhero, it wasn't fair to have all these insincere apologies from people she'd never met before in her life, it wasn't fair to have rabid fans or collectors break in to her house and steal parts of Peter as trophies, as though he was never a person but a symbol.

And maybe he was, to some people.

"And those things are _sturdy. _Nat said the only way for one to stop would be a super-charged electric shock or a fire. And really, either could have – been responsible for the damage to the transmitter. And…" he trailed off as he bared the full-force of Tony's most angry glare that could be bestowed on man, woman or child.

"That doesn't mean _anything_, when we still haven't got a _body,_" Tony snarled. "Fire doesn't miraculously disintegrate everything! We should have found – _remains, _bones, _anything. _For God's sake, we found a fridge that still had fresh _eggs in it. _Why couldn't we find – ? _Why are you all not – ?!_"

"Tony," Steve interrupted, swivelling to face him from his stoic position gazing out at the clouds. "Do not think for one _second_ that we are not as upset about this as _you_."

Tony threw his hands up in the air. "Then why is no one saying anything?"

"Because although it's _really _fucking hard to accept that we fucked up, brought a _child _onto the team and then got him _killed, _it's _happened, _it's _done, _and we _can't bring him back,_" Natasha hissed, snapping from her calm demeanour. "All we can do is to _never _allow something like this to happen again."

Tony leapt to his feet and pointed and accusing finger at Director Fury. "_He should never have been on the fucking team in the first place!" _he shouted, turning red in the face. "You _knew _Peter was a kid, and yet you _allowed _– you – you _blackmailed him _into being here!"

Fury's eye narrowed. "My reason for putting Peter on the team was to _remove _threats. Working in a team would have made it less likely he suffer an early death or the emotional and physical injuries involved with such a life."

"Oh, and the way you went around it was _superb," _Tony growled. "Sending two fully grown superheroes to _batter_ him to death!"

"That was before – "

"Oh, but you _suspected, _didn't you? You _knew _he was a teenager, don't deny it!"

"I saw it as the only way for Peter to avoid the same fate as Kamala Khan," Fury said firmly.

"_Kamala Khan died months after Peter joined us! _And – and you said to my_ face _that you set us after Spider-Man because he was a _danger to society! _"

"And yet they both suffered the same fate," Fury replied coldly, ignoring the latter part of Tony's rant. "If I had found Kamala before the – Goblin or whatever, then the world would be populated by another two superheroes."

"What?" Steve asked, almost getting out of his seat. "Kamala had powers?"

"Kamala was a mutant, from what we could gather," Natasha interjected, one finger slowly tapping on the shiny tabletop. "Or from a subset of mutants. We're not sure. But when she died, a budding superhero called Ms Marvel disappeared from the streets." She gave a humourless smile. "Considering the events, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. Same place, same time."

"How many other teenage heroes are running around the place?" Steve demanded. "Do you know?"

Natasha looked at Fury. He sighed, and rubbed his temple with a large hand. "Hard to say, there's been such an increase in activity. People are getting powers all over the place. We can't pinpoint mutants, we only know about them when they draw attention to themselves. Make a name for themselves. Like the man running around dressed as the Devil in Hell's Kitchen."

"He's clearly not a teenager."

Fury shrugged. "That's beside the point, Stark. I just said we don't know until they draw _attention _to themselves. And unfortunately, that's what our young friends Parker and Khan did."

Steve was getting twitchy. "But why did the Goblin go after them, explicitly? He hasn't made any discernable or serious attempts against us. And surely we're the bigger threat than a few teenagers in suits."

"Are you conveniently forgetting the attack on Stark tower?"

"But that wasn't an attack against _you. _He was after Peter. He was _specifically _targeting Peter – well, Spider-Man. It doesn't sound like he knew Peter and Spider-Man were the same person."

Bruce raised his hand.

"You don't have to raise your hand, Bruce."

Bruce lowered his hand. "I don't think the Goblin's going after them because they're threats. He's – " he fumbled with his words, brow furrowing. "He's going after them because they're easy targets."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you saying he knows they're teenagers?" Tony asked, turning redder in the face. "And _he's targeting them?_"

"Not because they're teenagers," Bruce added hurriedly. "But because they're alone, or inexperienced, or visibly weaker. From what it sounds like, Ms Marvel acted alone, and mostly on the more minor crimes. Well," he frowned, "crimes that don't involve destroying the city or world. Murders and muggings and rapes. Street violence. Burglaries. You name it. Despite her quite formidable shape-shifting abilities, she was _hopelessly _unprepared for that kind of attack, with that sort of firepower." He stopped. "As was Peter," he added somewhat reluctantly.

"Hey! Spider-Man had clearly joined the Avengers!"

"He was still injured," Bruce said.

"But _why?" _Steve cut in, settling back into his seat thoughtfully. "Why does the Goblin want to get rid of the younger heroes? If they don't pose a _threat, _and he isn't necessarily getting rid of them as _publicly _as he could to – I don't know, fear-monger? – then why is he bothering? It doesn't make sense."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, boldly turning his hearing aid back on when he realised people weren't blaming anyone anymore. "It's not like he publicly said 'hey everyone! I killed Spider-Man _and _Ms Marvel!' I mean, for all intents and purposes, Spider-Man just, like, left the scene alive, Ms Marvel was never near that hospital block and just gave up the superhero act to be normal. What he's doing doesn't have a massive effect on the public."

"A personal vendetta, then," Steve said grimly.

"Then we have to find him, and stop him before he kills any other kids."

* * *

"Sir?"

Harry's new assistant poked her head meekly into his office.

"Hm?" Harry looked up from his screen, hastily minimising the windows about the fire that had claimed his childhood friend's life. "What is it, Felicia?"

She promptly walked over, coffee in one hand and one of those awful wraps from that café just next to Oscorp. "Lunch and coffee, sir."

"Oh. Oh! Right, thank you," Harry said quickly, taking a little too long to process what she said, his head far too full of fires and suspicion. "Beef?" They were slightly more enjoyable than the chicken ones, where he could almost taste the added hormones. He fumbled to sweep a few papers off to make space for the food.

"Unfortunately," she said dryly, "no. Chicken. Even the legendary _Demeter's Delights _can't hold seem to make enough beef ones. And I can assure you, there's bound to be the same amount of hormones or whatever in the beef as the chicken anyway. Try not to taste it."

Harry smiled. "I won't."

"Probably for the best." She planted them both down by his hand, smiled back, and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

"Mr Osborn?"

He hesitated for just a second, and then made up his mind. He maximised the articles he hid from her as she entered.

"If I were, say, Spider-Man or some other superhero, what would you suggest I make a suit from?"

Felicia's eyes darted to the screen, where the article detailing the fire and Spider-Man's subsequent inaction in further criminal matters around New York.

"Something flame retardant," she suggested wryly. "Resistant if possible. Some kind of modacrylic, definitely. They're fairly resistant to chemicals, fireproof, hypoallergenic, fast-drying."

"Modacrylic?"

"They're used in wigs, carpets, and some fake furs, I think." She shrugged.

Harry cracked another smile. "Oh, I'm sure Spider-Man and other superheroes are running around the world with fake fur on their costumes." He shook his head and laughed softly. "Can you imagine how ridiculous that would look?"

Felicia's smile seemed to become a little fixed.

"Preposterous, I'm sure. But that's what I'd use. Or that stuff used in space suits."

"Maybe not. And Felicia, what would you say would happen if a human was caught in a burning building?"

"Die?"

"No – well, _yes, _that would probably happen – but to the body?"

Felicia laughed awkwardly. "These are very specific question, Mr Osborn. You're not accusing me of something, are you?"

"No. I'm genuinely curious. You're clever; I've seen your results from your college courses and these seem like the kind of things you'd probably know."

"I'm flattered," said Felicia, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "I'd say there would definitely be remains. Flesh would be burned off, hair too – "

She didn't seem to notice Harry's blanching, and his flinch –

"But I'd say there'd be bones left. Nothing nice to look at, but definitely something there. You know, like how Luke Skywalker found his aunt and uncle."

"Luke who?"

She sighed. "You've never seen Star Wars?"

Harry shook his head sadly. "Father didn't approve of science-fiction."

"Reality right now is like science fiction. I think laser sword fights are perfectly reasonable in this day and age. Anyway, charred remains, I'd say."

"That's… nice."

"Not really. I need to leave now, sir, I have those documents you wanted me to transfer to your late father's lawyers."

"Right! I almost forgot about them."

Felicia nodded, and left.

Harry watched her go, and his smile dropped from his face. He rested his hand over the image of the fire.

"So," he murmured. "Fireproof suit. And charred remains."

He frowned. "So why couldn't they find Peter's body?"

* * *

**And once more comes the hiatus.**


End file.
